


Into the Shadows

by iArgent



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: All mistakes are mine, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But not a major tag as it is rather isolated, Canon is broken, Dreamer/Somniari Warden, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Grieving, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irregular updates but trying for Sundays, Just kidding!, M/M, Mabari, May update tags, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Niro Surana is never really okay but he smiles sometimes so aight, Only two wardens, Romance, Smut, Team as Family, Warden physiology is played with, Warnings will be in the notes, What if everyone ended up fighting the Blight together?, all origins exist if I could weasel them out without Duncan, blood mage sympathizer warden, do not expect canon beyond basic plot structure, no beta we die like men, retelling but like, sorry dwarves, unless...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20828534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iArgent/pseuds/iArgent
Summary: Niro Surana is drafted into the Wardens, saving his life. From there it seems a long road, populated with things he'd always wanted but never expected, love, family, and freedom. Also awakened in his new world? A thirst for power, a desire for blood, and the will to shake castles to dust. Above all, he must survive, and he must win this war.Terrin Mahariel is the last of his clan, unless you count his flat eared wards. Abandoned and distraught, he needs to find his own way in this world that it feels like he's only now seeing. After the choices he's made, is he even able to call himself Dalish any longer?Fen Tabris was supposed to be married. And then Vaughn came, and she and her erstwhile party fled to Clan Sabrae. Left behind after a tragedy, she's going to have to make this work. It's not like they can go home. Unused to being free to fight, she finds herself in a war she was never meant to take part in.Svera and Summyr Cousland were meant to watch over Highever while their father and brother were away. Instead after one bloody night, they're fugitives with the only four they could save. With the sisters set on revenge and Eamon on his deathbed, they're running out of ways to make that happen.





	1. Mask of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Much less angsty than the summary makes it seem. Maybe. I don't know. 
> 
> Anyway, this is a rewrite AND a repost! Please, comment and enjoy!

He stood in the Fade.

The soft whisper of wind through his hair and over his exposed shoulders confirmed it. The sweet breeze, the brush of grass against his ankles. The heat, he could feel the sun at his back, vaguely uncomfortable, making sensitive skin prickle. His eyes were closed. 

They usually were here.

His mouth curled into a smile. It was nice. 

It was fake.

It was true the Fade was a gray area. It was truth and lie, and real and unreal and all sorts of contradiction. But this. This in particular. What had seemed so nice just a moment before was suddenly making everything hurt. 

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, felt his shoulders draw in. The fake sun was so uncomfortable and this fake grass made him want to claw off his skin. The breeze was no longer soft and comforting, it was a chime, no, a riot of manacles hanging from the fake sky, rippling and colliding with each stuttering heartbeat and trembling breath. 

He struggled for air, the open area he was in suddenly stifling and horrifying. He gasped for breath, dry sobs wracking him, he felt every one of the bones in his body, far too aware, he didn’t know what to do with his tongue, his hair was hot and heavy and too much.

He tumbled to his knees, legs too weak to hold him, and fell forward, hands digging into fake ground as he gasped, lungs filling with a scent he’d never smelled, nose full of wildflowers and trees, and things he couldn’t remember but the spirits so generously provided, and he tried to keep his eyes shut. 

It was horrible enough to feel this. To feel these things he never would. To know that if he looked, if he saw something like this. A field, a clearing, a forest. Something he was unlikely to ever see, he would wake in his stone room in his stone tower with the easels kept to pacify him scattered around full of half filled dreams and he would never be able to go on with his life. He escaped here often enough as it was. Weeks on weeks of sleeping sixteen hours until someone shook him awake and made him eat, or drink, or bathe. Templars holding his chin and tilting his head back to look into his eyes, a mockery of affection to see if he was still him if he was still broken and sad and cold instead of fiery and wild.

“Niro”

He knew that voice. He took a thin shaky breath and didn’t move.

“Niro, it’s gone. You can open your eyes.”

Valor didn’t lie. Valor never lied. So he opened his eyes. 

Valor glowed, a piercing white blue in the backdrop of dull green and gray. Uncomfortable in his light sensitive eyes. Yet, it felt good. This discomfort, the slick ground, the too bright spirit the strange scent of the raw Fade. 

“Come little one, you made it stop, you can breathe.”

Oh. Oh yes, he wasn’t doing that. The wheezing air that flowed over his lips didn’t quench the burning in his lungs. He was greedily inhaling air and not using a single bit of it. He tried to calm down, spots dancing in his eyes, trying to breathe slower. But it felt like he was holding his breath.

“V…Valor. Help.”

Hands that were cold and hot touched his back. Armor clanking as the hands stoked up and down the line of his spine. “Oh, little dreamer, you’re so brave.” Valor’s voice was deep and even soft like right now, it seemed to make his bones rattle. 

But Niro didn’t feel brave. He felt small and scared and weak. He felt like a failure who shaped dreams into things he desired, then fell apart when he realized those dreams were unattainable. He would never stand in a field on a summer day and smell wildflowers in bloom, he would never squeeze his eyes shut and breathe in, magic humming around him, and not have five men standing to the side ready to strike him down, and nobody would ever love him. And the thought made something deep in his stomach ache. His eyes welled hot with tears, he wanted that. That’s all he wanted. To love and be loved in return, to wake up and walk outside and feel grass. He didn’t want nobility, he didn’t want coin, he wanted to leave this stone prison. But instead he knelt in the strange dirt of the Fade and cried into a spirit of Valors’ armor and felt pathetic. No, Niro Surana was not brave. He was a fool who tortured himself in an effort to feel alive. 

“A brave mortal.”

“I’m….not.” He wheezed out, water falling from his eyes as the iron band around his lungs eased, anxiety petering into a soft, familiar dejection. 

He felt armored fingers tilt his head up, and he didn’t struggle, weak as a kitten in a storybook. He knew not to fight armored fingers in this, his skin bruised too easily. No. If armored hands wanted to see his eyes, that was fine. Nothing but that. So this, he would allow without even token resistance. 

Valor’s face was always hidden, or perhaps the spirits face was truly armor. His eyes glowed, disembodied like stars. Just burning energy in the shadowed space in the visor, but Niro knew they were making eye contact, even without the spirit having pupils. He could feel the flush of shame over his face at breaking down once more. Feel his skin prickle with the spirits energy focused on him. 

“Courage is doing what you must, even when afraid, dreamer.” Valor said, a hard edge to his words. “You fail time and time again, but you always try again, else I wouldn’t bother to watch.”

“I don’t need to do this.” Niro said, no inflection in his words but a cold venomous fire beginning to burn inside him. Valor wasn’t his friend, not in a way he understood, he had to remember that. 

“And how else will you get stronger if you don’t?” Valor challenged.

“I don’t need to be stronger I need to be free!” Niro snarled, face pulling in a way that even in the Fade he knew a Templar would smack off. He reigned it in, schooled his face back to smooth and pleasant. He was indomitable. He would never let them see anger or sadness. He needed to be ice, beautiful and unmoving. Even now, he had to be this, he mustn’t get out of practice. He would keep this cold rage to himself and one day, he would die, looking small and pleasant in his sleep and they would never know the defiance he harbored behind a serene smile. He would win this game, he who lasted the longest without breaking won, and he would be the champion even if all there was under this mask was a sobbing dreamer. He was going to win.

“That’s it, little one. Do you want to do it again?”

Niro pushed the armored hand away from his face and staggered back to his feet, huffing as if he’d run the length of the tower five times, knees shaking and bending together as he tried to find a way to stand unassisted.

“Yes.” He croaked, choked by the venom bubbling in his throat, lips twitching as he relearned his face. “Yes, one more time. Any requests?”


	2. Cowardly Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More time has passed than expected while Niro shaped the Fade. 
> 
> An old and treasured friend reveals new problems as he helps out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I've never successfully kept even one scheduled date so this is big for me, to update on the day I said I would.

Niro woke with his lips parted and his throat parched and cracked. His skin felt tight and hot and his hair the same, baking his skull and feeling like the dried insides of an old mattress. High above him, light filtered in, onto the opposite wall. It was the wrong color for morning or evening. It must be midday. He sat, not without difficulty, upright and shuffled his legs off the side of the bed. He rotated his shoulders minutely, vision blurring and head aching. He felt nauseous, like his head was on wrong and he couldn’t fix it. 

He took a moment to silently congratulate himself on movement before carefully inspecting his room. 

Nobody was there, he hadn’t woken to someone moving in his space. There was a tub, so someone was probably hoping he’d wake to bathe. A plate of bread curled in on itself, stale. That hadn’t been there when he’d gone to sleep. Had it been days? Probably. Though it was odd he’d be allowed to do so. Everyone got jumpy when he stopped waking up. 

Niro slowly rose, looking for water left anywhere, eventually trying to sip a glass of warm thick water he’d left on his desk. Water should never feel thick, he told himself, and wondered for a moment if he was drinking his paint water again. He replaced the glass, now empty and just as unsatisfying, back on his little desk and picked his way to the tub, carefully brushing fingers through the water. Blessedly cool, with a smell that made it seem like this wasn’t very old. Perhaps a day.

He wasted no more time, walking by and opening the door to flag down a passing mage.

“Ah, Enchanter, I see you’ve awoken.” The man said, eyes laden with disdain at Niro’s rough appearance.

“Send for a healer.” Niro said shortly, mouth tilted in his usual portrait smile. Then he returned to his room and closed the door, stripping out of the clothes he’d worn to sleep, and sliding slowly into the blessedly cool water. Everything was still terrible, but dunking his head under the water and smoothing his hair out soothed the burning tight feeling, and he shivered in the way only damp creatures do. 

He worked slowly and methodically, working soap trough his hair and over his arms and face, washing it out. The work was exhausting, even to do such a simple thing. But he persisted until he was clean, then padded on dripping feet to his trunk for a towel, and a fresh robe. 

A knock at the door seemed far too loud. His voice still constrained by the roughness of his throat, Niro crossed to open the door on his own.

Anders stood just outside, one hand laden with food, two straps hanging from the same arm holding two small bags.

“Why hello, decided to rejoin the party, eh?”

Niro exhaled softly and backed into the room further, gesturing for the older mage to enter. 

He did, with a pitying expression. “I brought food and water, you’ve been gone for two days, figured you’d want something.”

Holding a hand out wordlessly and hoping his arm didn’t shake too badly under the weight, Niro silently asked for water. He’d already spoken too much to the mage outside, it felt like he’d filleted his throat with small knives, and buffed the rest with sharkskin. Thankfully, Anders was smart. In this moment, Anders was Niro’s favorite person ever.

The water pouch was heavy and large, and Niro vaguely reminded himself not to drink too fast as he sat down and tilted it up. The water was cool and soothing, gliding over his tongue and into the sorry chasm of his throat. He tried to measure mouthfuls so he didn’t make himself sick, but he could feel a rivulet of water making its way from the corner of his mouth, and Anders carefully pushing the pouch away when he felt Niro get too zealous.

Niro emerged, thirsty for air and slightly less for water, after a few moments.

“Makers breath, man, air is just as important as water. If I hand you this apple will you bite it, or me?” Anders chided, removing an apple from a bag and handing it over. Niro was very careful to eat with measured bites, and tried to chew slowly. Anders could tell though, and before Niro finished the apple, a second was placed between them.

“I brought a comb, a small potion, and myself. That’ll have to do.” Anders said, tipping backwards to lay sideways across Niro’s bed. “You’ve missed a great deal, these last two days! A nonstop party.”

Niro smiled his tiny smile again, though with an accompanying bloom of affection in his chest. He liked Anders. In fact, in all The Circle he could honestly say he ‘liked’ five people, that Anders was one made him remarkably special to Niro. “And what did I miss?” He rasped, one small hand gripping Anders’ and pulling it to the back of his neck. “My head.”

Anders obediently sat upright and pulsed a little bit of healing energy into the base of Niro’s skull. “Well, a whole section of books disappeared from the library. The Forbidden School, of course.” He tilted Niro’s head and dragged a finger down his jaw, healing spell sparking along the muscle “So there’s rumors of blood magic again. It’s good you were out for that.” Anders tilted his head the other way and repeated the gesture, Niro felt muscles jumping and his headache slipping away to the usual discomfort “As we all know how free you are about how little blood magic bothers you. Probably why Irving let you sleep, let’s be honest.” Anders trailed hands up to Niro’s temples and the magic pulsed there. “And! Lilith underwent her Harrowing last night. Cullen was positively gushing about how quick and clean it was. I’m starting to think he likes strong mages and I’m also starting to be offended I’m not being dutifully worshipped.” 

Niro snorted “Perhaps if he turns his affections to her, he’ll stop staring at me while I read.” His voice was still wispy and faint, but it did sound better.

“Aww, pushing your dutiful admirer off on our darling Amell, for shame, Surana!”

Niro merely shook his head, halting, and doing it again, slower and less horribly. “She passed? She did well?”

Anders nodded, rummaging through one of his bags. “As I, and Cullen, said, quick and clean. She’s still shaken up and a bit sick. Jowan went to check on her this morning. He’s very put out he didn’t realize she was gone.”

“He was with Lily?”

“I dunno, probably. Are you still angry about it?”

What an odd thing to say. Niro had never claimed to be angry about anything. It was true he thought very little of Jowan’s lover. Both for her personality and her ties to the Chantry, but he hadn’t thought he’d shown it. 

“Still angry, got it. You know, you’ll have to talk to him about it sometime. Little idiot isn’t nearly as sneaky as he thinks he is. But don’t get me wrong. Getting into a Chantry sisters skirts? Color me impressed. Don’t look at me like that.”

Niro felt the edges of his lips pull. Yes, he liked Anders. Liked him too much. If he wasn’t careful Templars would invent something between them and he wouldn’t see his friend again. Granted, Anders and Karl had their own secrets to keep. And even now, Karl was packing for his transfer to Kirkwall. Niro reminded himself he needed to check in on Anders more, while also not getting him sent off as well. A tall order. “You’re my favorite part of the day, Anders.”

Anders smiled at him, feline and sneaky, and Niro knew what was coming “I could be your favorite part of the night too, you know.”

He shook his head slowly, and reached for his brush, ready to attempt his hair with Anders’ healing.

“I’ll do it.” Anders volunteered, snatching the brush away and pinching above the frayed ends of Niro’s hair. “It needs a cut, it’s getting more gray then silverite.” 

Niro looked down to where Anders held a long tendril of white silver hair, fuzzy and frayed at the tips, and indeed, less bright than it could be, dry. “I’ll get right on with that. Perhaps I’ll buy better soap as well.”

The older mage shook his head “Sarcasm may become you, but there’s no need to come for me like that, there are better ways.” He winked

Niro bit back the flush rising to his cheeks. It was too risky to engage in such activities for him, even in jest. 

“Stick in the mud. Young, beautiful, boring.” Anders teased, combing diligently, then twisting the front into braids. “At least let me win the bet. I said you’d have your hair down, but pulled back. Petra said you’d pull it up.”

“Why would it matter?” Niro rasped. Blinking rapidly at the usual uncomfortable pressure and dizziness, it always persisted, even when healing magic came into play.

“Because, and I say this knowing you won’t tell anybody-”

The younger mage took a moment to look very concerned.

“-It’s boring here.”

Oh, oh that was fine then. 

Anders took his time, gently scooping up hair that knotted and tangled if he set it down for too long, twisting it into a sleek braid on either side that combined down the back. “It’s so long.” Anders sighed wistfully “Positively storybook, and you have to cut it.”

Niro rolled his eyes silently.

“I saw that. You elves have such big eyes, of course I saw it.”

Niro allowed his usual smile to tug just a bit wider before shutting the whole thing down. “It’s horrid. Dry and rough.” He paused, the burning in his chest almost leading to a cough. Anders handed him the waterskin once more, backing off once Niro murmured a soft thanks as he took a few more ravenous mouthfuls. “If I had access to a knife I’d cut it myself. Shear it off to the scalp.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Worried you’ll lose a bet?”

Gambling was nearly the only thing to do here. Bets were so common, would Cullen get through a full conversation with Niro? Would Niro show more facial emotion than the wall (No, no he would not. Very rarely did he slip up from impassive where others could see)? Would Jowan make a fool of himself in primal, would Anders be sent to scour pots, what color would Irving wear today? Just a multitude of little things. The winnings could be an apple, never fresh, from lunch, a small embroidered patch on ones robes, or something as trite as a lesser lyrium potion, leftover from a class to give one an edge for their next spellwork assessment. 

“I’m worried about losing one of the most interesting things in the tower.” Anders drawled “It’s so impractical it’s practically a rebellion in and of itself, I love it.”

“You love trouble.”

“Guilty.”

Anders tied off the braids and tilted Niro’s head this way and that to check his handiwork. “Your eyes look less glassy, that’s good.” 

“I feel dead.”

“If it helps, you only look gravely ill, not quite ready for burial yet.”

“Terrible.” Niro chided. Throat only protesting a little. “I’m glad you came, and not Wynne.” He admitted. Anders was not a Templar informer, he was a friend, and friends could see inside. A little. Sometimes.

“You and Lady Know-it-All don’t get along, I get it. But…She’s gone.”

Niro blinked rapidly “Gone?”

“Oh! Oh no, she’s not dead or transferred. She’s been sent to help the army. There’s a war on outside, you know. Rumors of a Blight.”

“She’s…fighting?”

Anders shrugged “Or healing, you know us healers are popular when someone wants to stab someone else. Why, jealous? Secretly want to rain fire on a bunch of nasties?”

“I…I can’t use fire.” Niro stuttered out, brain trying to catch all the loose threads of his own emotions. Was he jealous? He wanted to leave, he felt it with a strange aching longing in his throat. Likewise, he didn’t want to leave his friends behind. But Wynne…She was outside. Somewhere Niro hadn’t been in fourteen years. He clutched his hands together in his lap. The thought of going outside was daunting. Frightening even. He couldn’t admit it out loud. Not even to Anders. A bald faced admission of weakness was beyond him. He wasn’t allowed to be scared. But…He’d read books, books that mentioned the strange Dwarven belief that if they walked out from underground they’d fall into the sky.

He knew he’d been outside, he knew it was irrational, but still. He worried that if he was let outside he would fall, straight up into the sky. His eyes moistened with the thought.

Anders larger, warm hand covered one fist. “It’s fine that you can’t use it. I’m sure you’d be amazing on the battlefield.” He said kindly “Maybe one day…We’ll get to show that.” His voice sounded a little flat behind the kindness. 

Ah. Karl. 

Niro had let it slip his mind for one moment of selfishness. If anybody wanted out of here. It was Anders. He’d escaped, run free six times. The last had landed him in solitary, and he’d only been released a few short months ago. He would think Niro foolish and cowardly if he ever knew how badly he wanted to be free, and how terrified he was of it. Niro wanted out. But…he suspected Anders wanted to burn down the Circle. Once Anders was an Enchanter, Niro wondered if he would join the Libertarian Fraternity. Niro…Hadn’t declared one. But if he did, that’s where he would go, were he not so afraid. Were he not the way the Chantry wanted them to be. Or, he reasoned. Anders just wanted to go away and be free, maybe Isolationist. Anders had never truly declared he wanted mage freedom, just that he wanted to get as far from The Circle as he could. 

Niro unfurled a hand to squeeze back. “Someday.” He’d covered for Anders escapes before, he’d do it again with relish. He’d even helped lessen Solitary, smuggled down the Tower tabby, Ser Wiggums, and bothered Greagoir incessantly. Anders was his conduit to his own internal chained desire for freedom. So it was only fair.

Anders squeezed back, just a bit too tight, and they didn’t make eye contact.

The older mage packed up his things. “Oh, Irving wanted to see you when you woke up. When you’re feeling up to it?”

Niro nodded, looking at his bare feet, a few inches off the ground as he sat on the bed.

“And Niro? Welcome back.”

And the door closed.


	3. Painted Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niro encounters another friend on his way to Irving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weekends in a row? Whaaat?

There was a mirror in the room, a circular, slightly warped object that hung largely ignored on a far wall, or by the desk, or wherever Niro moved it to that day. Sometimes he could use it to reflect natural light but mostly it was a quick way to startle himself if he passed it too quickly.

Today he pulled it off the wall and walked it to his small desk, past his easel, a half finished painting dried and unnatural staring back, and Niro found he couldn’t quite remember where he’d been going with it. 

Once the mirror was leaning against the wall, Niro attempted to put himself together enough to be seen outside of the first three feet of the hallway outside of his room. Anders had handled his hair. Which did indeed need a trim, it looked more like Greagoirs but two feet longer than what it could be. Of course, it wasn’t like nice soap turned up often, leading to most wearing theirs shorter or cutting regularly to dissuade the lye soap from destroying their hair. 

Anders had managed to correct some of the split ends to a more discreet place, the curling ends of his hair wet down and forced out of bushy tangles. His skin seemed ashen rather than milky, which…Well, he’d been asleep for two days, this was fair. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot but not glassy, however it gave the unpleasant appearance that he had suffered some form of injury, and the blue of his iris seemed more unnatural than simply bright, and the red rimming of his eyes in general made him seem largely ill when combined with his drab hair and ashen skin.

He grimaced, thankful his teeth still looked okay from a glance. He looked…awful. He was a tiny ghast. Some sort of mage stereotype, a strange little creature from a tower, that was him.

Fine. This was fine. It was Irving. He didn’t even like Irving, so it wasn’t like he cared about his opinion of him.

He shifted the mirror and stepped back. Turning and trying to make sure his robe lay correctly. Niro was an elf, and naturally willowy and generally smaller than usual. However poor diet had let to a confusing mix of simply being short and pointy. He had lost the roundness of his face but that simply led to him looking awkwardly angled and boney, even at nineteen winters. As such, the robe had a habit of folding in on itself rather than him. It took a while each day to try and lash the extra fabric around him to avoid looking like a child wearing his fathers jacket. It not only looked awful, but had the added benefit of tripping him as he tried to walk.

As it was, faded green robes were unpleasant anyway against his coloring anyway.

It was all the better he would get though, so he tugged fruitlessly at his robe, wishing he could look just a tiny bit better and sweeping out into the corridor.

It was strangely quiet today. The usual hum of pages turning and spells, with the undercurrent of conversation was absent. His soft barefoot steps were loud enough to be heard, so either he was off balance and scuffing his feet, or this floor was utterly abandoned. 

He didn’t actually hear another person until he tugged the heavy stairway door open. As soon as the hinge stopped its creaking, a soft sniffle almost made his ear twitch in surprise. 

A human woman in blue robes was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest just outside the door. Wide violet eyes flickered to him in alarm before she calmed slightly. Instinctively Niro stilled and listened. There was conversation in Irvings office, well, he assumed it was. But the wall the woman had chosen would absorb most noise she made if she was quiet. 

“Lilith?” Niro asked “Are you alright?” He tugged the door shut behind him, wincing at the noise, and it momentarily stopping the murmur of conversation, he lowered his voice and tried to enunciate as he lowered his voice to a whisper and settled on the step next to her. “Lilith, can you understand me?”

Amell sniffled and nodded, cheeks blotchy as his were ashen. “I can hear you. Your accent isn’t too thick.”

“Good.” Lilith was trying to school her features into a familiar mask of impassiveness. She and most others had not gone as far as Niro had, to try and bleed out as much emotion as he could without becoming Tranquil, but anybody could benefit from a more impassive guise. “I heard you had your Harrowing, and that you did very well?”

The dark haired woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, before reopening them, a measure more composed, and nodded. “It was very fast. The demon wasn’t much of an issue. But it would have been faster if I didn’t specialize in Entropy.”

The small portrait smile flickered back to life on Niro’s face but even the vague nature of it made Lilith smile too, wobbly, and a little wet, her full lips quirked as well. “What demon was it?” Niro asked.

Her smile fell, she looked vaguely sick. “Despair.” She whispered, tucking her face into her knees, body jerking in a gag. Niro put a hand on the back of her neck and pulsed a small amount of healing into her skull. He’d been terribly nauseous after his Harrowing. He spared a thought to Pride, and suppressed the shudder his final words to Niro always brought. Words that had cemented Niro’s desire to be on guard at all times.

But perhaps the experience wasn’t so negative. “My demon was Pride.” Niro whispered “He pretended to be someone else first, I met three demons, but I think Pride was my test, though we never fought.”

Lilith tilted her head toward him, turning so her cheek rested on her knees “Who did he pretend to be?”

An apprentice. A victim. Someone to stoke his rage at the Tower and make him feel strong enough to fight. Someone who wanted him to run at that taste of power and freedom and submerge himself in it. But it had hurt so much. He’d thought it was just the Raw Fade, demons were too close, Sloth and Rage, but Mouse had hurt so badly, pain so bright, Niro had known he couldn’t believe a word of it. Another high that led to a greater fall, he had reemerged more withdrawn, more controlled. He’d lost hope.

He kept his glassy perfect smile in place and tilted his head in some attempt at appearing funny or charming without actually showing or feeling either. “Tell you what, if we are ever outside of the Tower, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

She looked sad for a second, but recovered, smiling still, and struggled to her feet, before holding out a hand to help Niro up.

Niro took the hand and rose himself, coming up to her chin.

“I always forget how little you are.” Lilith murmured “You seem like you should be much taller than me.”

He rose his brow “I’m a tiny, pale, Orlesian elf, why would I be taller than a Marcher human?”

Lilith shrugged, looking queasy at the movement “You’re so powerful, I guess my mind thinks you should be seven feet tall and built like a Templar.”

“That sounds…horrifying.”

They both made eye contact for a moment before hastily looking away from each other, Lilith chuckling to herself. Niro still trying to recover from his mute horror at the image. After a moment they tried to continue speaking but eye contact set Lilith off again. 

“Thank you, Enchanter Surana.” Lilith whispered when they could face each other again. “I’m glad you’re my friend.” She worried her lower lip a moment, then leaned in for a quick hug that Niro didn’t return but felt deep into his bones, he was rarely touched. “I’d better go. Stop being sorry for myself, y’know? Jowan wanted to talk to me. See you for dinner?”

Dinner, of course, served just after sundown on the main floor usually consisted of a bowl of something sort of warm, usually filling, some bread, and often some type of fruit. Rarely, a sweet for dessert. It was usually a bit too crowded and loud for Niro’s taste, he usually grabbed a serving and retreated to his room, lit candles, and painted or slept. But a few times a week he tried to sit with his small group, looking disinterested but feeling weirdly happy to be near them. Pleased none of them mentioned his lack of students or his aversion to emotion, or his penchant for isolation. “Of course.” He answered, finding the answer came easily for Lilith, they were celebrating today after all, he could put off his post dream isolation. “I need to see Irving for a bit. I can try to find you later if you’d like company, unless you and Jowan have plans?”

“I think I get to meet his” She lowered her voice so much she was almost just mouthing the words “secret lover.” She broke her mask for a moment to wiggle her eyebrows, and Niro’s small smile twisted sharply, just a bit more mirth than he wanted to show, but accurate to the amount he felt, being silly in a stairwell.

Lilith looked torn between victorious and horrified. But was polite enough not to comment. Her hair was pulled up in a tail, and was clearly meant to be a shiny black, but looked lackluster as everyone elses, she moved her hand to it as if she meant to brush it behind her hair with a long fingered hand and stopped when she didn’t connect. Clearly still a bit in the post Harrowing fog. Her pale skin less blotchy, her violet eyes red rimmed like her nose, but looking much better. 

“Are you good to go meet him?” Niro asked after a moment, getting his face under control, noticing Lilith had shifted so he was blocked from the bottom of the stairs. An inopportune smile may not be dangerous on its own, but it made Niro deeply uncomfortable, and his friend had decided to shield him. He felt the same flutter of affection he felt for Anders. His friends. 

Lilith nodded firmly, lurched at the motion, and vomited on the stairs.

Niro danced off to the side, avoiding the mess, but stuck a hand out to catch the collar of her robe and pull it up, catching the tail of her hair with his wrist as he avoided her sick getting on him or her.

When she finished, she spat, swore, and stepped back. “Right.” She rasped “I’ll clean that up.”

Niro looked at her in wide eyed exasperation. “There’s a bath through this door, down the hall. Wash your mouth out, meet Jowan, then go to your room and rest.” He ordered. He reached out to touch her face and check her temperature. “Are you hurting or feeling sick?”

“I actually feel better. Just gross.” 

Niro exhaled in a brief moment of relief. “That happens. I was sick after mine too. Just see a healer if you feel odd, alright? I or Anders are around.”

Lilith nodded and stepped around the puddle, lifting her robe daintily, like a noblewoman. Which, Niro realized, she could be. Nobody discussed outside and before. Anders was an exception, he could discuss escapes, quietly. Lilith was tall and beautiful, a talented Entropy mage, all angles now like everyone else, but she had high cheekbones, full lips, and a face made to be painted and hung in a great hall. She walked gracefully, and Niro had to cut the thought off. They didn’t discuss outside or before. Lilith had come to the circle a year or two after him, but was two years older. She was his friend, and that was all he needed. He watched as she slid through the door, hinges screaming as usual, and nodded to himself.

So he skirted past the puddle and walked down, head held high, and walked quickly by the door to Irving’s office and the arguments inside, and walked until he found someone with cleaning supplies. He politely informed them of the mess on the stairs, offered to help, was turned down, and turned to return to the area to speak with Irving. He was stopped by an aborted attempt at conversation, a soft broken word from a man in armor.

“Cullen.” He said, letting himself sound warmer than usual. Cullen…was not his friend. Cullen had a crush on him, no idea why, but he did. And as much as Niro wanted to say, and did say, that it was utterly unrequited, the truth was the shy man mad his blood run a bit faster, and his thoughts feel like honey. The brief flare of interest in Anders was a mutual sort of attraction, but this was a true interest and Niro half hated it. The other half, of course, was his silent defiance, which really liked him to skirt the edges of propriety in his own mind.

“A-ah. Niro. I-I mean, Surana. My apologies.” 

Honestly, Irving could wait. “How have you been, Cullen?”

Cullens eyes were lovely, the iris a light gold leading to a hazel outer iris. His pupils seemed a little contracted as if he was panicked “I-I’m well! I’m glad to see you’re well….as…well, I’m sorry I-I’m saying ‘well’, a lot.” 

“It’s a good word. I like well.” 

“Hmm” Cullen pressed his lips together, Niro briefly considered them, then tried to mentally back off before he imagined things he couldn’t have. “You’re too kind.”

They sort of smiled stupidly at each other for a moment. Well. Cullen smiled his adorable tilted, innocent smile, like his emotions were fine and safe, and Niro smiled as he normally did. But it probably reached his eyes, he supposed.

“I…You slept for some time. A few of the others got nervous.”

Aaaand that’s why Cullen wasn’t his friend. The warm feeling died like a torch dipped into Lake Calenhad. “Upset they didn’t get to run me through this time?”

Cullen lifted his hands like Niro was wielding a weapon and he needed to talk him down. Well, Niro supposed he was always armed. “N-No! You’re well regarded, I-I just meant-” He didn’t finish the statement, staring and confused. 

Niro wasn’t sure if he had overreacted, or If he was right, but he felt guilt swell, and tried to soften the sharp feeling inside. “That was unworthy of me. You were concerned, I appreciate it.”

Cullen put his hands down, and that little smile returned “Y-yes. You must be…We’ll talk later?”

“Of course.”

Niro continued to Irving’s office, irritated at himself and frustrated in general. 

“We’ve already committed enough of our own to the war effort-”

“Our own, since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir?” 

A man with dark skin and thick black hair pulled back, looked as Niro entered and seemed to swell with the thought of escape, but when he spoke, his words were calm and measured “Irving, it appears someone is here to see you.”


	4. An Inborn Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan meets Surana. They have two very different perceptions of their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna actually write more, here. I've only got like four more chapters on standby.

Niro’s steps faltered for a moment as both Greagoir and Irving turned to face him.

“Niro? What are you doing here?” Greagoir asked, looking briefly concerned before looking at Irving.

Irving met his gaze steadily, a dusty low laugh escaping “This is the only mage I wouldn’t hesitate to say you felt kinship for.” The First Enchanter ribbed “Young Surana is here because I asked for him.”

The stranger and Niro made strained eye contact out of the corners of their eyes, curious about each other and unable to ask as the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter bickered over Niro’s own presence.

Greagoir was combative, Irving was smug, Niro was awkward, and the stranger was caught in the middle, watching a jousting match run by two drunk riders. Horrifying, yet enthralling. 

“Surana, this is Duncan.” Greagoir said, tense as a bowstring. Irving stood a half pace behind him, self satisfaction lining his posture, arms behind his back. “He’s a Grey Warden, here looking for recruits.”

“Ah, who is this?” Duncan finally asked. As bewildered by the strange power play as Niro was awkward. 

“This, is Niro Surana.” Irving announced “One of our brightest minds and most powerful mages. He is young, but I trust him a great deal and thought he would be a good guide to you during your visit.” 

Duncan looked alarmed, Greagoir looked enraged, red crawling into his cheeks as he flushed. “Yes.” He said, tensely “Surana is talented indeed. I’m pleased you are feeling well enough to help the First Enchanter, my boy.” The way he said it made it sound like Niro had taken ill. Though considering how he looked right now, Niro supposed it was a feasible statement.

“A pleasure to meet you, Surana.” Duncan said, words and tone measured carefully “I fear I’m more looking to retire for a few hours then take a tour, though if you’re available later I may ask if you’re willing to provide a mages view of the Tower.”

Niro opened his mouth to answer and was cut off by Greagoir “The boy doesn’t interact much with other mages.” He bit off curtly “He’s usually abed, or painting.”

Greagoir seemed determined to grind Niro’s image into the dust, and he was left wondering what he’d done to anger Greagoir so much. The thought was distressing. Was it because he’d slept for so long? Anders had said rumors of blood magic had been abound, did Greagoir suspect him?

“Just an escort to my room then.” Duncan responded easily. “I am not much of an artist myself, but it should fill the conversation down the hall.”

Irving nodded, and Greagoir jerked his head in a way that meant assent. 

Niro tuned on his heel and escaped into the hall, pausing just out of sight from the room, and feeling confused and hurt. Duncan appeared suddenly and together they walked quite fast for a bit.

“Forgive my asking, but-”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what that was about.”

Duncan slowed to a stop, looking over the hallway they’d just covered. “Can they hear us from here?”

Niro turned to judge the distance. “I’d be quiet.”

The Warden nodded “Greagoir seems protective of you.”

Protective? Is that what that was? “Greagoir brought me to the Circle. I was five.”

“Oh, is it common for Templars to form attachments to their charges then?”

He thought about it “I don’t think so?” He answered, voice tenuous. “Maybe?” He didn’t like being off balance. His face was still held in an emotionless mask but his eyes were all over the place, widening, narrowing, his tone was all wrong. He’d just reaffirmed he was going to come out on top of this, and then he fucked it up in the first six hours. A bad day.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what do you think is different here, then? Is it because you’re Orlesian?”

The man seemed confused, curious. The way he added the second half seemed to indicate he thought Greagoir was defending him for being foreign. Not impolite, just, wondering. Niro nodded to himself “I don’t think it’s because I was born in Orlais.” They reached Duncans' room and Niro gestured him in, the mage who had been cleaning scurried out. “I…My magic came very early. It’s supposed to manifest around age ten, never in infants or smaller children. I think that’s why he’s protective, I was very young.” He said coolly, rationally, as if he was repeating a fact. Yes, back into this.

Duncan smiled, like he was looking at a friend, a familiar antic. “Are Orlesians born playing The Game, or do you just revert to it naturally?”

Niro tilted his head “The Game?”

The Warden chuckled “It’s a matter of life and death in Orlais, at least for nobility. Lies, misdirection, one-upmanship, and a struggle for power. They go so far as to wear masks in public. Without one, you seem to have invented your own.” He didn’t seem judgemental just…amused.

“That’s just the Circle.” Niro replied “If you don’t want to get hurt, or those close to you implicated, you show as little as possible. Unless you’re sloppy.” He amended “Or you trust too much. Or you’re very young. The Chantry likes to know all we do, it’s…I guess it is a game, to hide information from them.”

“Information like a Dreamer?”

Niro didn’t react “That sounds more like someone not wanting to die.”

Duncan nodded. “Fair enough. Is it difficult, being an elf in the Circle? You seem to have your own politics here. I imagine it’s the same in each Tower.”

The Warden had settled down into a seat at the table, Niro followed suit and sat across from him. Trying not to let his eyes flicker to his strange armor or weaponry. One of his ears was pierced, like Anders. The Templars hated it, but their impotent anger made Anders love it more. “I’m not sure if my life has been made difficult by my ears.” Niro stated blandly, affixing his normal smile and closing his eyes to portray joviality “My height is an issue.”

Duncan just watched him, Niro wondered if he found his acting out emotions odd, or discomforting, like a Tranquil laughing when they didn’t find something funny. 

“You said Greagoir found you young? If it’s not an imposition, I’d like to hear the story.”

Ah. Clever. 

If it bothered Niro he could say so, and the man would probably drop it. However, he’d know the story bothered him. So he had to tell him the story, which did bother him. But he had to say it without showing that. Right, just facts. It was fine.

“From what I can remember, I was very young, you’ll recall. My parents came from Orlais, I don’t know where, they were elves, so probably servants.” He spread his hands in front of him in a ‘what can you do?’ sort of gesture. “I think they left because I started showing magic. I would have been…two? Whatever the case, they came to Ferelden, again, I don’t know where.” And the troublesome bit, he tried to subtly firm the corners of his mouth, distance his mind from the next part. “Naturally, they weren’t pleased I was a mage, so they…prevented it.” He spoke very carefully “I’m told I consumed enough Magebane to Silence most of a Tower over the course of three years. Honestly, I may still be in our little cabin had my parents not been killed. Freak accident, cart spoke splintered and the whole thing turned over.” A mercy, for him and them. The monsters that had him in his own cage before the Templars ever came. He wondered if he would have died, poisoned by Magebane, or if he would have grown enough to fight back, to kill them himself. “I woke up and made my way outside after a day or so, a neighbor knew they had a son, so they sent the Chantry word. I’m told I froze the lock of the house to get out. Greagoir arrived within the week. Inclement weather kept us on the road for a month. Most I’d ever been near someone conscious.” He shrugged “That’s the story.” 

Duncan looked like he wanted to say something.

Niro just wanted to hide away from the fact that even his parents hadn’t loved him. He had friends he couldn’t be close to, a surrogate father in Greagoir who was just as constrained by duty as Niro was, and this empty feeling. 

“A sad tale, I’m glad you’ve distanced yourself from it.” 

“It’s best left in the past.”

A minute passed, and Niro almost stood to excuse himself.

“How do you feel about mages fighting in the war?”

“Mages command a lot of power. I’d imagine they’re useful.”

“They are. I’m having trouble convincing Circles to allow them to fight. How terrible it must be for them to be allowed to use their Maker given powers.” He said, voice laden with sarcasm “They fear blood magic and apostates when a Blight has come and I…Have you any advice for softening their disposition?”

Niro allowed himself a true frown. Duncan looked interested in that. “No. I’m sorry. One of the others may know.” He twitched back into his normal smile “I’m usually abed or painting.”


	5. Gilded Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niro says a hard goodbye, and learns a few things about perception. All while wrestling with rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's wild that the first Origin is coming to a close so fast. I only have a few more chapters written, so I gotta stock up.

He left the Warden soon after that. The man was intelligent, and Niro felt like he was playing chess with a Templar as they spoke. The man was too observant and he put Niro far too off kilter for their talk to be truly companionable. All the same, Duncan was interesting.

Niro had no tasks lined up for him yet. His companions were largely scattered, teasing Cullen would just be cruel after their earlier interaction. Yet, he found he didn’t want to go back to the painting in his room. He had no idea what he’d planned with it, and it was stressful. On top of which he would be tempted to dream again. No, if things were going on, he should stay awake for a time. He hesitated for a moment. He had one thing to do.

Turning round he walked back to the office. Irving was still bickering when he arrived, but Greagoir dismissed himself and turned as Niro entered. “It took you long enough. Forget the way?”

Greagoir’s mouth twitched like he was either amused or upset and Niro was confused enough at the contradiction that he couldn’t settle on an emotion to feel besides unpleasant. “He wanted to talk to me. We talked, I came to report he’d been successfully guided to the guest quarters.” He relayed impassively. Yes, back in this.

“Hoping to be a Warden, then?”

“I doubt it would be an option.” If Greagoir was going to be cruel today, Niro wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing him hurt. “I am, after all, usually abed or painting, not useful skills in a soldier.” He added sardonically, gaze steady. Let him know he was unhappy, but show nothing.

“What I do, I do for your own good.” Greagoir insisted, the First Enchanter watching the cold argument from a few paces back. “Outside of this Tower you’re a risk. I feel mages often forget their gift is also a curse, and you more than any others should know that. Dreamers can do terrible things, the outside world would not look favorably on you.”

A statement he’d heard before. One that prodded his fear of non mages, and mages alike. But just because Greagoir was right didn’t mean he liked it. “I know, you’ve told me.”

“I know I can seem harsh.” Greagoir added, eyes softening a bit “But I do care for my charges, I do care for you, and is my duty to see the mages inside the Tower, and the people outside of it safe. Even if you don’t like it, I only do what is is your best interest.” 

“Greagoir is right.” Irving chimed in unexpectedly “I realize the Circle may not be perfect, but we do what we must to keep you all safe. Now, had you anymore to say?”

“I wanted to see Karl before his transfer. But I’m unsure where to find him.”

Greagoir nodded and left the mages to their own council, an armored hand brushing Niro’s shoulder as he passed. 

“Enchanter Thekla should still be in his room, awaiting transfer in the morning.” Irving offered “I understand this is a hard time for many, and Anders, of course. But as I’ve said, we do what we must.”

A swell of rage bubbled in Niro’s chest. He’d met three demons during his Harrowing, and he’d been more than willing to believe Rage was his opponent. It suited him. He was often angry at the Circle, at Irving, at Greagoir, a Templars, at Mages, at the unnamed people who kept him inside. But in the end, anger was useless. It didn’t change anything, if he snapped and raised his voice louder than a heated debate he rarely participated in over Circle politics, all it did was ruin his mask, give others ammunition against him, and leave him hopeless. “I shall go to say goodbye, then.” He said evenly. 

“Do not linger, Surana. You may be Greagoirs favorite, but starting rumors now will do no good for anybody.”

Niro swallowed and left without replying. He was silent up the stairs, and pushed the door boldly, allowing the hinges to squeal again, and groan as they fell shut once more. The floor was still quiet, and Niro took a moment to thank whatever luck he’d had to find a mage passing this morning. Karl’s quarters were at the other end of the hall, and it seemed to take forever to arrive. Theklas door was closed, of course, so he knocked.

No answer.

So he knocked again. 

The door swung open a bit fast for the calm expression Karl Thekla wore to be true. “Karl.” 

Karl stepped aside and gestured the younger mage in “Niro.”

The door was closed and they stood in silence for a moment. “It wasn’t you.” Karl stated.

“Of course not.” Niro bit out, the tension between he and the older mage thick and uncomfortable. “I’ve always done what I could to keep you both safe.”

“I know.”

“And now…”

“Please, don’t blame yourself.” Karl said “You have enough internal battles to fight without unneeded guilt joining the fray. We got caught, and I volunteered for transfer so he wouldn’t be sent away.”

“So. Kirkwall then.” Niro breathed, bringing a hand to his mouth. Neither he nor Karl were looking at each other, Karl staring across Niro’s back to the side wall, Niro, straight ahead to the barren far wall. “I’d say I’d write, but we both know I can’t.”

“I’d return the offer, my young friend, but we’ve heard of how well correspondence travels from The Gallows.” 

It was quiet and uncomfortable.

“I don’t want you to mourn me.” Karl added, and Niro made a soft, choked hissing noise he never wanted another to hear, the barren wall the only witness to suddenly wet eyes. “I want you to promise to keep Anders as safe as you can instead.”

Niro was quiet “And if I can’t?” He asked “What if I’m sent away, asleep, or dead? What if I’m powerless to help, why would you ask that of me?”

Karl laughed, a dry, joyless sound “A plea, from a lover to an ally. With me gone, I leave my place as a stabilizing influence here to you. Do what you can. But please, don’t waste time feeling guilty if you can’t. We all know how we all end up.” He took a deep breath, it was a little shaky, Niro didn’t comment. “Just. Do what you can for him? I’ll always regret we ended like this.”

“I regret being powerless to help. If it means anything, I argued against your transfer.”

“I know you did. Irving told me, and I’m grateful. It cast suspicion on you as well, and you didn’t have to stick your neck out for me. I’m honestly surprised you did. You are the most cautious of us.”

You’re my friend, Anders is my friend, Lilith is my friend, Jowan is my friend. Even Greagoir is my friend. Niro thought, words dead on his lips, you’re all I have, I think this is love, and I want to help even if you’re all so stunned I can feel, even if you don’t feel the same. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat from the sudden tightness “You’re a benefit to us all, Karl Thekla, and for what it’s worth, I’ll miss you.” He said instead.  
“I’ll miss you as well, Niro Surana.” Karl said formally, reaching out to squeeze at the back of Niro’s neck. “You should leave before you’re sent to Ostwick or I’m lost at sea.”

“Very well.” Niro said, voice clipped and professional. “I wish you safe travels, and luck at your new Circle.”

“I wish you luck as well. Be well, my friend.”

The door was opened for him, and Niro left, looking much the same as when he had entered, but feeling weary. And they wondered why he’d rather dream. Though, he thought back to his last attempt at shaping the Fade, it wasn’t like he escaped pain or sorrow there as well. 

Perhaps he should stop by his room, look at that painting, try and remember what he wanted. He could call for some water to wet his paints again. Avoid the next few days, sit in silence until Karl was gone and the Warden was gone and wait in his stone prison to be burnt to ash in the coming war. A part of him wanted that, to be free in death. But Lilith and Jowan and Anders would die too, and he most certainly didn’t want that.

He heard the door open and close before he rounded the hall, and wondered briefly who he was about to run in to, before Lilith rounded the corner, wide eyed and out of breath, unusual.

“Surana!” She said, unnaturally jovial. “Um, could you do me a favor?”

He stepped closer and looked at her eyes, pupils blown like she was in a panic. “I’ll first need you to regain yourself.” He said coolly “You seem, distressed.”

“Oh, not at all! Just excited!” Lilith was absolutely not built for outward displays of joy, Niro decided. Her small smiles, and low laugh were very nice. But her serious face didn’t lend itself to her overlarge smile or strange pitch. He could see her pulse hammering in her throat.

He looked around, quietly walking to an area where his voice wouldn’t travel both ways down the hall. “What have you to be so overjoyed by, Amell?” 

“O-oh! I’ve decided to…Um, take some advice. I said my Harrowing was a little more difficult then it had to be because Entropy is my speciality, so I’ve decided to try some Primal school. Fire, in fact.”

She was acting this odd because she wanted to take a new class? Why would he even be questioned about this? He wasn’t allowed to teach. “And what do you need me for?”

“I’m going to try…to see if I like it first, so I want a Rod of Fire from the Stockroom. I figure being close to it will let me know if I’m going to get jumpy, y’know?” One hand rose to her hair again, as if she meant to toy with a loose hanging section, and again, connected with nothing, reaching back and clapping her hand over the back of her neck to try and make the movement seem natural.

“And you need an Enchanters signature.” He stated. “And you know I’ll sign.”

Lilith looked confused for a moment. “You don’t believe me, at all, do you?”

Niro allowed his eyes to narrow “No.” He drawled, accent thick as honey, “I really don’t.”

“I can…Explain? It’s Jowan, they think he’s the blood mage.” She rushed out in a panicked hiss, causing Niro to swivel uncharacteristically to ensure they weren’t overheard. “He’s to be made Tranquil, we need to help him get out.”

Niro blinked. He didn’t say anything, just blinked, processing. He had just said he’d do his best to look out for the rest. “Where did you hear this?” His voice was iron. There were so many things to account for, he absolutely couldn’t afford for this to be misconstrued.  
Lilith bit her lips. “I…I promised.” She said, looking torn. “He’s my best friend, I can’t just…just spill his secrets.”

Jowan was her friend. Niro was a means to an end. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, the pain ignored for now, and he hoped he looked frustrated, not sad. “Fine. I’ll investigate. Go to your quarters, and give me that form.”

“What?”

“I said,” He repeated, cold and hard as ice “To give me the form, and go to your quarters.”

“But you have to help.” She hissed desperately “I know, I know you have trouble feeling things for other people, but you think of him as a friend, don’t you? We’re friends!”

He thought they were friends. But he hadn’t been sure how they thought of him. He supposed it was objectively fantastic that his friends couldn’t truly be sure he even liked them, but mostly he just felt sad. “If there’s truth to it, I will.” He said, bland, like an instructor, as he watched color rise to her cheeks, her eyes were wet.

Lilith handed the form over with her lips pinched tight into a line. “Please.” She was begging, this display was dangerous, it gave him much power over her. 

She’s terrified. He thought. She’s so terrified she came to me, and she isn’t even sure I like Jowan. Lucky for her, I do.

“Rest. It will look less suspicious.” He ordered, and swept past, barely catching a glimpse of her eyes widening, a trembling smile peeking out.

He would probably blast these hinges one day, he thought, marching back downstairs, bile in his throat. They were so loud. Lilith slipped past him and down the hall as he tucked the form into his own robes. He entered Irving’s office again. He usually went there about once a week, but today he’d managed three times, Irving should feel touched.

“Ah, back again?” Irving greeted, voice like he hadn’t drank in a month “What can I do for you?”

Niro looked past him to the desk, where the books on the Forbidden school lay. He followed his line of sight, stopping in front of the desk and not facing Irving, tracing slender fingers over the leather spines. “I’d wanted to ask about these before.” He lied “But I figured it best not to do so with Greagoir here.”

That was believable. Niro and Greagoir may share a closer bond than most prisoners and jailers, but Niro’s acceptance of blood magic grated directly against the Knight-Commanders Chantry sensibilities. His tolerance was only accepted because as a Dreamer, practicing it would make his dreaming difficult, it would be easy to uncover if an already dangerous mage discovered an equally dangerous pastime. 

“Ah, rumors in the Circle travel fast, even to you!” Irving chuckled “It’s suspected someone shares your curiosity, but not your restraint. I thought it best to remove the books from public circulation for now.” Irving paused “Of course, as an Enchanter, if you wish to read them I won’t stop you. You’re less a risk of becoming a Maleficar than even the most cautious mage.”

Niro forced a soft exhale of laughter, shifting through the books, eyes dragging over titles he didn’t read. “Perhaps later.” he said, lifting, then setting down a thick, mottled tome. “Any suspects?”

“There’s no need for you to worry.” Irving consoled “Greagoir and I have found the culprit, and it will be handled without the need to involve Enchanters.”

Niro nodded along as if he agreed, a swell of sour concern in his belly. “Who is it?”  
“You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t know, Niro.” Irving said, voice soothing. “I know how hard it is to lose friends to poor decisions.”

Niro turned, resting his back and both hands against Irving’s desk. “So.”

Irving sighed “It is Jowan.”

“And he’s going to be made Tranquil, or killed?”

“I understand you’re upset.” Irving said “And I know it will be hard seeing him as a Tranquil.”

Niro felt his eyes flutter shut unwillingly, and forced them open again, that sour feeling swelling to his throat as he met Irving's gaze, expressionless.

“But it is necessary. I do what I must. Have you heard anything else?” he paused again “I’m very proud that you chose to come to me instead of seeking a way to circumvent it.”

“Is it truly blood magic, or punishment for the sister?” Niro asked, looking to the side, eyes trailing up a tall shelf as if he were almost disinterested.

“Ah, Lily. You know about her as well?”

“He isn’t stealthy.” Niro said dryly. 

Irving shrugged “Greagoir says he has proof. I cannot interfere in that.” He looked at Niro for a half second too long “Do you know anything more?”

Niro thought for a moment. “No, I had to think, but I’ve heard nothing else.” The form burned in his robes like a thieves token as he spoke to a guard. “Thank you.” He said, walking out “For your honesty. You didn’t have to be.” 

“Niro.” Irving called, the elf stopping most of the way out the door, long, thin fingers trailing over the frame “I know it’s hard. Please do not discuss it. If you wish to speak to someone before it is done, come here, I will try to set your mind at ease.”

Irving wouldn’t believe his small portrait smile, or him closing his eyes like he felt joy. So he looked away, and nodded into the empty hall instead, and his fingers slipped off the door-frame last as he walked out. 

He knew what had to be done.


	6. Half Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niro knows what needs to be done. That doesn't mean he won't learn things about himself and others in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Life has been...y'know, honestly, bad. Brain bees and family stuff. Enjoy a mage going off the rails.

Niro swept down the hallway. Face expressionless and posture furious. Two apprentices skittered out of his way. He supposed were he not upset it would be funny to watch two much taller humans scurry out of his way like he was taller than five feet.

He strode into the Chapel and made his way past the pews. He saw Lily from the corner of his eye in an alcove, and walked into the one next to her. Seeing Jowan’s shocked face through the lattice, pale skin and sharp lines and handsome, if stupid, Niro felt a brief surge of self satisfaction. Niro reached out to place two fingers near a burning candle. If anybody looked now, he would appear to be, perhaps uncharacteristically, offering a silent tribute to Andraste.

“Meet me by the repository door in ten minutes.” He said, twisting his hand as if embracing the flame. “Do you understand?” 

Lily seized Jowan’s hand, nodded, and Niro felt a flash of ill will. They were both so foolish. And this girl was likely the reason Jowan was even looked at. Niro didn’t honestly care if he was, or was not a blood mage, he did care that the love struck imbecile he called his friend not only didn’t trust him, which he supposed were he feeling more charitable, was fair, and that said love struck imbecile had gotten so suspicious and sloppy he’d been caught outright. Greagoir never lied about proof. 

He spent a moment completing his prayer. Mostly, he thought about his next move, Andraste and the Maker were different constructs he cared nothing for. However their worship was a decent smokescreen.

He turned and left the moment he felt it wouldn’t call attention to himself overmuch, moving with a purpose that may have been suspicious, had he not paused to flip through random books he pulled from the wall on occasion. Better to look like an irritated Enchanter looking for answers than truly out of place. 

“Ah, Ser Surana.” A familiar voice called from behind him. The Warden. Niro gritted his teeth, the anger so close to the surface. Then he slipped into his pleasant smile and turned to face the man.

“Ser Duncan.” He said simply. The man saw too much already and today was an off day as it was. He didn’t need this human in his way. This irritating observant human could ruin everything.

“If you have a moment, I wanted to ask you some questions.”

He didn’t have a moment. 

“Of course, you seem busy-” 

Oh fuck you 

“-may I ask what you’re looking for?” 

Niro nodded, moving his arm languidly to gesture at a nearby instructor training a mage in fire. Okay, good first step, now lie. “I’m attempting to find a way to use herbs to alter spellwork.” He explained, rapidly building steps to a ladder he was already climbing, “There are grounding tonics etcetera and lyrium potions, of course, but the Hedge Witches of Rivain have a few interesting treatises of herbs enhancing and lessening the effects of spells. I’m trying to see if I can recreate the effects, but our library is sorely lacking the information I need.” 

“That’s fascinating.” Duncan said, looking, damn him, actually interested. “I am of Rivaini descent myself, it is always interesting to hear such interesting views coming from somewhere I’m connected to.”

Go. Away.

“Oh! I imagine it would be. I often find myself making projects for my own amusement. However if I can prevent burns during Primal training, it may be best to do so, yes?”

“Indeed.” Duncan said, watching the demonstration for a moment. “When you have a moment, could we speak in the upstairs library? As I said, I have some questions.”

“Of course.” Niro replied “Give me an hour or two, unless you need me sooner?”

Duncan waved him off “No, no. We shall see each other over the next few days, no need to rush today.”

And the human left. Just left. Just like that. Turned around and walked away. Niro waited until he was sure the man wouldn’t turn back to look at him, then slid through the door and made his way to the basement door, and waited. 

Lily and Jowan both arrived just as Niro was beginning to suspect they hadn’t taken him at his word. As it was they seemed confused and wary, but followed him downstairs anyway. He supposed they couldn’t be picky about their help. 

“Jowan.” Niro said as they closed the door and walked into the entry chamber.

“Y-yes, Niro?” The man was jumpy. Unsure, and confused. Fine.

Niro reached into his robes and with a rustle produced the Rod of Fire request form and held it out to him. “Burn this.”

“You didn’t get the Rod?” Lily whispered furtively, looking concerned “How else will we get through the lock?”

“Do you really think fire is the only way to damage something?” He replied, voice cold as the outer door in winter, and Jowan looked surprised. 

Jowan gulped and after a few false starts, the paper was incinerated. Niro flicked a hand out and the ashes blew across the floor, blending in with old dust and dirt. Jowan looked suitably impressed, and Lily, uneasy. He was an unknown, he supposed. Lilith and her entropy, Jowan and his fire, she would have seen them. Niro was private, and high enough in rank to not attend classes on the main floor. He had no students to train, no classes to teach. And for a moment he felt happy that she was nervous. He took a normal breath, but used it to calm himself. He was being prideful, cruel. He was irritated and worried and it had made him less placid, and more angry. That wasn’t safe. He gestured to the door. “Well?”

“This is the-”

“I don’t care.”

He had an hour at most to get this done and be upstairs chatting with a Warden before someone came looking, suspicions of his behavior earlier. He also had to try and use plant to bolster spellwork? Stupid, why hadn’t he chosen something he’d already planned on looking in to?

“Blood of the Maker, tears of the Fade.”

The door clicked.

“So that’s it, now we go in?”

Lily shook her head, still wary. Jowan himself seemed a bit put off by how curt Niro was being, but he supposed that was to be expected. “That only primes the door, now you need to touch it with mana, any spell will do.” 

“And Jowan cannot do this for what reason, exactly?” 

“The door will only respond to the touch of a Harrowed mage.”

Oh that was too much. As near as Niro could tell, a Harrowed and a non Harrowed mage didn't have different magic. But this was a lecture for another time. He lifted one hand and let the same rush of air brush the door. It opened, so really, what did it matter.

They walked in and were confronted near instantly with another door. 

“That’s the door to the Repository.” Lily explained, urgent, breathless. “If you can break the lock, do it now.”

Niro reached out to curl ice around it. And felt like he had plunged his hand into ice water. It left him feeling numb and strangely dead about the fingers. He pulled his hand back, and ice gathered in his palm, but when he extended his arm again, he could watch the little spell pushed back from his hand, up his wrist, then flicker from existence. 

“What’s wrong, why isn’t it working?” Lily asked.

“Lily, there’s something wrong. I can’t cast magic here.” Jowan joined in, frantic.

Niro closed his eyes and breathed. It was fair of them to be nervous, it was Jowan’s life on the line. He shouldn’t be irritated. He was also worried for Jowan, that’s why he was here. Why he refused to let Lilith be implicated. 

“Of course! Why use keys for a door guarded with magic? Because magic is useless against it,what do we do-”

“We can’t just give up now, we have no choice-”

“So that door?” Niro asked, already walking to the other door at the end of the hall “Where do you think it leads?” 

“It must be another door, to another part of the Repository.” Lily answered promptly, following closely.

Jowan followed a step behind. “As I said, we don’t have much choice, Surana, will your magic work on thi-” Jowan was interrupted as the lock froze and fell apart, the door opening a crack with the suddenness of the locks breaking. “Oh, well-”

At which point a suit of armor attacked them and Niro entered true combat for the first time in his life.

He didn’t really have time to care about Jowan or Lily, as the armor made a beeline for him and drew a sword. Niro felt vaguely dizzy at the thought of dying here. He hadn’t thought there would be guards down here, let alone enchanted armor. Ice was already on the forefront of his mind and he sent it at the armor, which slowed, then with a crackle, was sealed in place. The three of them just stared at it for a moment before Jowan walked forward and began to try and wrench the sword out of the creatures hand, succeeding with a crack, then promptly dropping the sword point to the ground with a clang.

“What are you doing?” Niro found himself asking, still strangely distant and floaty as he watched.  
“You’ve frozen it solid!” Jowan exclaimed, wide eyed “I think if we hit it, it’ll shatter.”

Sounded right. Niro was willing to let him do whatever until his head stopped spinning. 

With an unholy clang, crack, and popping noise, the armor shattered when Jowan hit it. Weak as he may have been physically, the sword was heavy, and the armor brittle in ice. 

After a moment of stunned silence, they continued on. 

***

Niro had complaints. He realized, as he flung a hand out and froze three enemies at once, thankful they stood close together. 

They seemed to face a new group of enemies whenever they opened a door and he wanted to know exactly why a small army was being stored in the basement. They’d come across a few storerooms that were looted for anything useful against sudden armor attacks, and come up with a few staffs and a few daggers, which allowed them to ditch the large sword Jowan had liberated from the first one.

During each battle, rather than becoming more fearful as Niro expected he would in combat, he became more sure of himself. Rapidly adapting spells to suit his new needs. His handful of ice became a cone, the cone became a light sheen on Lily’s dagger, a desire to move faster became a near vertigo inducing glide that Niro could see no use in, barring escape, if it didn’t make him so dizzy that recovery ate what time he’d saved. Jowan seemed tentative where Niro grew more sure. As Niro felt himself lighten, felt himself smile truly and unrestrained for the first time in years as lightning danced with him and smote a spirit, Jowan grew withdrawn.

His fire spells remained useful, and Niro still couldn’t cast it, but his blood running hot and vicious as another suit fell felt something like it. But schooling his face back into impassivity and glancing at Jowan after each fight showed a different development. Jowan may fight well enough, his spells useful, but at the end, he dispelled it, looked worryingly at Lily, who refused eye contact for a moment then smiled a strained smile. 

At first Niro thought it was stress. They were fighting for their lives after all. He was unsure how much time had passed, and was rapidly becoming stressed too, but Lily seemed different. It was only when, frustrated, Niro had managed to call a wisp from the Fade to help his spells gain strength and Lily shied away like he’d thrown a chair at her, that he understood.

“I’m going to check the chest.” Lily said, walking away rapidly “Perhaps there are better daggers.”

“Good idea!” Jowan called, catching his breath before moving to follow. Niro reached out and grabbed his wrist, the texture off. But that was an issue for another time.

“Jowan she shies away from magic like a kicked animal.” He said, low, fervent. 

“That’s fine.” Jowan said, wide eyed “I’m going to give it up.”

Niro’s breath caught. For all the pain it had caused him, he would sooner die than give up his magic. “Jowan.” He said, stunned.

For his part, seeing such naked emotion on Niro’s face seemed to have stunned Jowan too. But then he tried to pull away, and Niro wasn’t paying attention, and the button holding Jowan’s sleeve closed popped. 

A raised pink scar. Not new, not old. Purposefully inflicted.

Jowan went pale, looked horrified and they maintained eye contact a moment too long. “I’m going to give it up.” He repeated, breathlessly “All magic, I just want to be with Lily.”

Niro felt cold. He didn’t mind blood magic. He minded the lie. Lilith certainly hadn’t believed he was the blood mage. Lily would never approve. And Jowan was planning to live in some sort of magical celibacy for a woman horrified by his very being.

“Please. Please I just want to be with Lily.”

Nodding, Niro brought his other hand to Jowan’s wrist, pressed his thumb into the healing wound. Jowan flinched and tied to pull back, and Niro didn’t let him. 

“Don’t tell. Please.” Jowan’s voice was low and desperate as he begged. 

“What are you two doing over there?” Lily called on her way back, a new dagger in hand.

“Jowan’s been injured.” Niro said, still staring at the wound, Jowan’s face pale and horrified.

And then he slid some magic into it, watching it knit and vanish by the time Lily reached them. Healing had always been his speciality. 

“Looks like a stray spell or something. I’ve healed it. Sleeve is ruined though. You’ll need to ditch your robes.”

Jowan looked relieved on a nearly painful level.

“Oh! I’d forgotten mages could heal so effectively.”

Lily looked a little bruised, being the only one of them with a martial weapon. “Do you need healing?” He asked grudgingly, but with a light tone.

“I’m fine. You should conserve mana.” 

“Yes.” He agreed. “And we should continue on before we are missed.”

The door did lead to the Repository in the end. Niro thought without much surprise as they entered a stockroom. Globes, statues, weaponry. All fantastic, all hidden away. Niro wondered idly if after this was done he could ask some leading questions and get to study a few of the artifacts. A statue of Eleni Zinovia was of particular interest. Especially as it turned out to actually be Zinovia. The ancient mage hidden in a basement, with the power of precognition. Niro touched her, the spark of magic beneath his hands old and wise.

“Oh it’s all rubbish, look I can do it too.” 

“Stop talking to it Jowan!”

Jowan and Lily bickered in the background. Niro stared at Eleni. “Your path is long, Somniari.” She crooned “We shall meet again, when you’ve slaughtered hundreds.” Niro’s breath stuttered in his throat. Was he to be an abomination then? Would he be terrible? To kill hundreds…What was he going to do?

“It’s evil.” Lily said seriously “Don’t listen to it.”

Jowan touched his shoulder and Niro saw Lily glance at him suspiciously, uncomfortably. “It could mean bugs.” Jowan offered. “Prophesy and precognition are tricky that way. Think about it, how many spiders or ants do we kill each year?”

“Let’s move on.”

After some general searching, Jowan and Niro found an old Tevinter hound statue. It made a little flutter arise in Niro’s chest, he found he liked dogs. Even scary stone ones, carved to look menacing. Perhaps he’d add a wolf to the painting upstairs? It needed life, and little was livelier than a dog, or so he’d heard. 

Jowan knelt down and inspected the statue, Niro ran a hand over the snout, impressed by the craftsmanship. 

“I’ve read about these!” Jowan crowed suddenly, looking up, and yes. There was his friend. Full of life, maybe a dolt sometimes, but a talented researcher and diligent student. “They enhance spells! I wonder…Could we move that shelf? With your power we could go right through the wall.”

Niro found with Jowan smiling, excited about freedom, or simply solving a puzzle, that he couldn’t deny him. However, he was…frail. Jowan, though thin as most mages were on the food from the tower, was built taller and stronger than Niro, who was a small elf, and also very thin from years of missing meals to sleep, and the meals he did get not being particularly stellar, as shown on Jowan’s frame.

“Uh. I can try?”

“Oh. Right. Well, with the two of us it should work!”

The fact that it did would startle Niro to his own grave, he imagined. The shelf was moved, the wall was crumbling, and, laying a hand between the stone dogs ears like he was petting the beast, a simple lightning spell brought the wall down. 

The three picked their way into the Phylactery chamber, breath visible.

“Oh wow.” Jowan breathed, looking around “An entire room enchanted to chill? This is amazing.”

Niro agreed. If this was possible, then so was heat. It could be possible to ward entire rooms at specific temperatures by combining the two. “My phylactery is in Denerim.” he found himself admitting. A longing fierce within him again “Or maybe I would have been tempted to leave too.” To explore magic practically? To use his power as he had down here, to fight. He thought of Eleni’s words, to kill? The last part scared him. He was afraid of that potential. But still, he wanted that wild, vicious rush of freedom again. 

“You’re smart!” Lily chimed in “Far smarter than me, I’m sure you’d be able to stay ahead of the Templars.” 

He wasn’t sure if she was serious, or expressing a false platitude, but Niro decided, just this once, to take her at her word. He huffed a small laugh “If Anders couldn’t do it, there’s no hope for me.”

“I found it!” Jowan called from a small platform. Niro really didn’t know how he’d managed, nothing was marked. But perhaps you own blood called to you, he thought. Or it could be the blood magic, followed on its heels. “Such trouble for so small a thing.” Jowan mused, before whipping the crystal bottle at the far wall, blood and magic and crystal shattering, gore dripping down the wall. Niro found himself fascinated with the color of it.

“We should leave.” Lily urged, “We have only a small amount of time.” She hesitated, looking at Niro, seeming unsure, and, if he looked close enough, a touch revolted. “Your magic and help has saved us, we can never repay you.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that Jowan’s magic may save them yet. But he decided to stay silent. Niro dropped the staff he’d been using by the door, irate that he hadn’t considered how to hide it when he was done when he’d picked it up. Jowan was going to be gone now. Niro thought with some melancholy, watching he and Lily hold hands and bend their heads together. But he’d be out, and free. And no matter how perturbed Niro was by the rejection of his magic, or by Lily’s seeming hatred of it, it was Jowan’s choice. They stopped short of the door while Lily slipped out to make sure they wouldn’t be seen.

“So this is goodbye.” Jowan said, voice soft. “Will you tell Lilith farewell for me?”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad…that if she told anyone, she told you.”

Niro snorted, Jowan turned in surprise “Oh she only told me a little, refused to break the confidence of her best friend.”

“She could have told you.” Jowan admitted, hand darting out to grab Niro’s. “I used to resent you, you know.”

Oh. That…felt terrible.

“I thought we were friends, but I could never be sure of you. Templars left you alone, you adapted magic like you were just breathing. You were pretty and skilled and I couldn’t be sure you even liked us.”

Niro looked, a bit worried, at their connected hands.

“But. When I met Lily, and we started this. I realized you probably felt a lot for us. Even though you’re younger than us, you’ve been here longer. I guess…It took having a secret of my own to realize you were protecting us.” He squeezed Niro’s hand “I’m sorry about Enchanter Thekla. And, I do hope we meet again someday, if you’re ever make it outside.”

The moment was brittle. Soft. Niro wasn’t sure where to go from here, but there was a sweet ache in his throat, and he swallowed thickly, retrieving his hand and cradling it with his other. “What are you and Lily going to do?”

“Own a farm.” Jowan replied rapidly “Raise chickens. We’ll just be normal.”

“Jowan.” Niro started, soft and firm at once.

“Look, I know you don’t approve, but magic has never done anything for me-”

The door opened and Lily poked her head in “The coast is clear, we need to go.” She hissed, and the two men made their way upstairs.

“As you said Irving. Here they are.”

Greagoirs voice. Oh no. Niro felt his spine straighten, unease prickling at his neck, and Lily went still.

A small company of Templars walked in, the First Enchanter with them. Greagoir at the front. He looked briefly surprised to see Niro, then…Resigned. “An initiate conspiring with a blood mage.” He advanced looking at Lily, who seemed horrified “She seems shocked, but fully in control of her own mind. Not a thrall then. It is as you said, Irving, the initiate has betrayed us. This will not go unpunished.” He hesitated, looking at Niro “And this one. You knew what you were doing.”

Niro steeled himself. “Indeed I did.” He said lightly, a mockery of his mask in place. 

“And you know the price.”

Niro didn’t dignify it with a response.

Greagoir pursed his lips.

“You could have told me.” Irving said, disappointment palpable “You didn’t need to lie.”

“Whatever their options were, the deed is done now.” Greagoir announced. “The Initiate to Aeonar. The mage…Well.” Niro felt an inappropriate trill of passing happiness that Greagoir at least seemed unhappy at the prospect of Niro’s death. 

“No!” Jowan cried, pulling a knife from his belt that Niro hadn’t actually seen, and slashing his hand. Niro felt the oppressive weight of magic on him and fell to his knees with the Templars and Irving. “Lily, come on!”

But not me. Niro thought, distant and cold in the spell. That conversation was pandering. All for nothing. His sacrifice was what would enable Jowan and Lily to flee, and his Tranquility was coming. It was unfair. In a way, Niro felt both used, and understanding. His death was acceptable, the death of all he was was acceptable, if he could use it to protect Jowan. But at the same time, he wished the heavy price wasn’t so easily acceptable to Jowan. A contradiction that waved through his foggy mind.

“A blood mage?”

“I…I dabbled! I’m going to give it up, I’ll give up all magic for you, Lily please!”

Just go. Niro thought, the words echoing around in his head like footsteps in an empty room. Just leave so we can get on with this. 

“I don’t know you, blood mage.”

Jowan’s eyes briefly met his, horrified, as if he’d just realized what had happened, what was going to happen, what he’d done to him. He hesitated.

Niro kept eye contact for a moment. Why was he waiting? It felt like his tongue was trapped in clay, sticky and dizzy and hard to move. “What are you waiting for?” He slurred, accent so thick he could scarcely understand himself, anger bubbling in his belly once more. How dare he? How dare he stand there waiting to be caught like Lily alone was worth Niro’s life, was worth Jowan’s life. Like it was all for nothing. 

Jowan ran.

It took another few minutes for everyone to rouse. Sitting, then standing.

Niro brushed dust from his robes and waited. He just had to be quiet for a bit longer. Just had to be good a bit longer. Well ‘good’. Anders and Lilith would be fine, isolated from the incident. Soon, he wouldn’t care. He’d be dead. Or at least, all the important parts of him would be. He could hear Greagoir shouting in the background, at Lily, he supposed. He felt a little tingle of fear. If he died, but his body still walked around, would he be used to hurt the others? It would be hard, the sunburst on his forehead, hair shorn to the scalp. He felt a little sick. But, he wouldn’t care for long.

“Niro, I know you were upset, but you know I do what I can for the mages of this Tower.”

Niro looked up, but didn’t tilt his head. No, no being good. He would be rabid in his final moments. Original plan be absolutely damned. Anders and Lilith were clear. So he glowered up under his lashes, mouth warm with fire he’d never cast. He had started the day determined to win, now that he’d lost, he was going to lose spectacularly. 

“I can’t do anything in situations like this.”

He had no fire. But he had venom. “Then what good are you?” he hissed. Most of the Templars in attendance paused in shock. The naked rage in his voice unthinkable for this mage. “What good are you, Irving?”

The room was silent.

“You helped a blood mage escape.” Greagoir barked in the quiet. “Do you understand what you’ve done?”

Lips curled into a mocking smile “I helped him destroy his phylactery as well.” He goaded.

Greagoir looked unspeakably sad for a moment “You knew.” he said hoarsely “You knew he was a blood mage, and you helped him anyway.”

“I didn’t. Not at first.” Niro started “But I learned. And I helped anyway.”

“What is going on here?” The Warden. 

“None of your concern, Duncan, this is Circle business.” Irving tried to diffuse the situation. Niro could hear murmuring through the rushing blood in his ears. An audience.

“You willfully aided a blood mage!” Greagoir shouted, advancing on Niro where he stood, and seizing the front of his robes. The Niro of three hours ago would have whimpered, maybe cowered, felt hurt and scared at Greagoir manhandling him. But now, now he just felt angry.

“And you plan to make a Harrowed mage Tranquil.” Niro spat back, falling a few inches when Greagoir released him in shock. “I have been a ghost my entire life.” He snarled “Make me the real thing. Go ahead. If I could see this outcome, I’d still do it again.”

“Niro.” The Templar said his name so softly Niro was sure nobody else could hear it, even in this crowded room. And then, any hint of sympathy or care bled from the Templars face. He looked over one shoulder at another Templar “Ready the Brand.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you don’t, friend.” Duncan said, skirting the group to stand a few awkward paces from Niro. “I thought you were more than you seemed.” He said, a sad smile creasing his face “I’d hoped to give your keepers and yourself a few days to warm to the idea, but it seems I have no choice.”

“He’s not going anywhere!” Greagoir roared “This mage is a stain upon everything the Circle stands for, he has willfully spat on its core tenants, and stands as a traitor to the loyal mages of this Tower.”

“Duncan.” Irving said gravely “This mage has turned on his home, and family. His loyalty can never be assured.”

The dark skinned man looked back and forth between Niro and the two heads of the Tower. “I came here for a recruit, the Wardens always need a strong fighter. But we also need the type of man who would sacrifice everything for a friend.”

“Duncan the friend was a Maleficar.” Irving stated, voice tenuous as if delivering bad news to someone frail. “And he knew.”

The Warden nodded. “And he didn’t care. We need that type of determination. Say what you will, but I am conscripting this mage.”

“A blood mage escapes, and his accomplice is rewarded by becoming a Grey Warden?” Greagoir exclaimed “Irving is there nothing we can do?”

Irving looked at all of them, back and forth, from elf to human and Templar to mage. “No. There isn’t. Leave quickly, former son of Kinloch Hold.” 

Duncan walked a short way and grabbed a thick pack. “I thought this may be the case when I heard the commotion.” He said, voice serious. “we’ll be on our way. Recruit Surana, you first.”

Niro was nearly ashamed to admit that when the doors opened and the afternoon light hit him, he stumbled backwards, heart hammering in his throat, wondering if the first step would be his last, and he would go spiraling into the sky. He felt dizzy, there was so much of out here. 

Duncan put a hand on his back and pushed gently “Watch your step, or you’ll trip again.”

Oh, he was being kind. Covering his fear. Niro didn’t look back, and half closed his eyes, and stepped into the dying light of the day. His feet stayed on the ground, and he felt a tremor run through his body as he took another step, and another, a cry trapped in his throat, and he didn’t start to shake until he was in the small boat with Duncan, and he head the door close. 

He trembled all the way to shore.


	7. Unbreakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The outside world is strange. But perhaps not all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Very brief mention of past attempted sexual assault, and a hand-wavey fear of it in The Spoiled Princess that absolutely doesn't happen. 
> 
> This is the last bit of Niro's prologue! After this, we jump to Terrin Mahariel. Thank you anybody reading :)
> 
> Title is taken from Fireflight's "Unbreakable" which is on Niro's playlist.

In all his life, Niro had had difficulty standing thrice.

Once, after his Harrowing. He had woken, lyrium drunk and in pain to the sight of Templars closing in. Startled into stopping, and realized he had taken far too much time, hampered by the pain demons wrought. And had very nearly not woken at all.

The second, after he had been made Enchanter. A new Templar, Ser Dovan, had been very upset when he had rejected his advances and had decided instead to take what he wanted. He’d failed in the attempt, but still. Niro had been struck multiple times, and taken a spill over a rolled rug, breaking his ankle, the pain had brought on the strange blood fervor he’d only felt again fighting in the Repository. He had killed Ser Dovan,, felt that sick pleasure as someone who wanted him hurt and humiliated had dribbled frozen rubies from his throat, letting them clatter on the floor. That incident had led to many horrible things. But the most immediate were simply the broken ankle and a torn sash to his robe, and some bruising, bad bruises, but just bruises, easily fixed, much like the ankle. Still, he had tried and failed to stand multiple times before a slightly younger Anders had shoved him back on his ass and slapped him soundly across the face to try and lessen the hysteria. He was pretty sure that’s when he’d decided Anders was his best friend.

The third, was as he tried to make his knees work to leave the little rowboat that had carried him from the Tower. The first two, he reasoned, at least had cause. Lyrium was strong, being beaten during a chase through the second floor was a reason to have trouble moving. But this? He could find no reason for this. The mind was a powerful thing, and could even make its wielder sick, but losing control of only his knees was a brush too much. He swore his ankle hurt, throbbing as it did on cold or stormy days. His neck and head hurt, as they always did. But his knees were simply numb.

“Surana, we’ve arrived at shore.” Duncan said after a moment, probably confused as to why the mage he’d met had gone from a porcelain doll, to a creature of rage, to…a man who looked at the ground and didn’t leave boats.

Duncan stood and Niro tried to make his legs work again. They didn’t.

_C’mon legs. You have very little use, please do one of the few things you’re supposed to do._

The Warden held one large hand out and because his arms still worked, Niro reached out and took it. His pale hand and long fingers looking uncomfortably vulnerable in the other mans. It reminded him a bit of a tawdry romance novel. The type Lilith and Anders definitely didn’t share. Only instead of romantic, Niro was very aware of how easily this man could break his hand. He didn’t, of course, simply squeezed and tugged up. Niro was halfway to standing before his right knee remembered it hated everything he stood for and locked, causing the elf to tumble forward, caught by a quick hand at his elbow. The Warden patiently pulled the elf from the boat, and soon, Niro found himself standing on the dock for the second time in his life.

He instinctively looked up at the moon only to feel sudden vertigo, swaying and looking at the ground instead.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Niro’s tone was impassive but nothing else was, and Duncan watched in thinly veiled sympathy as Niro got his bearings.

“I have a room at this tavern. We shall stay the night, and be off in the morning.”

Wait why bother staying at the tower if he had a room elsewhere? No matter. Niro nodded and dutifully shuffled one foot in front of the other until they entered the tavern. It was later, but not uncomfortably so, but still any talk ended when they entered. Duncan spoke to the barkeep and then returned to Niro, guiding him to a chair and pressing down on his shoulders until he sat.

Duncan had chosen a table by the wall and through the open window Niro could see he Tower. He felt strange looking at it. Like if you looked into a mirror long enough you started to doubt you truly saw your face.

However the Warden said nothing, simply let Niro stare at his old home from the window with wide eyes. The sound of cutlery on wood made Niro start so badly he almost tipped out of his chair, turning, wide eyed, to face a deeply alarmed barkeep who had thankfully been leaning over the table when he dropped the food, startled at his own surprising of a mage.

“Well, this is all.” the man offered, darting back to the bar and passing shifty looks back over when he thought neither Niro nor Duncan were looking.

“I didn’t know what you’d like to eat.” Duncan said casually, loading his plate with enough food to feed three men. “But please, do eat.”

Niro gave the fish a wide berth, nose wrinkling at the mere scent of it, and looked for something familiar. Some sliced fruit would do, some bread. He hesitated over a strange lump until Duncan cleared his throat and called it a soft cheese.

It was…An experience. One he enjoyed though, the cheese was rich and sharp on his tongue, but in small enough bites he found he really enjoyed it. The bread was fresh, the fruit sweet and tangy. The water tasted better than usual.

Midway through the meal, Duncan, taking a break from a truly staggering amount of food, had tipped his tankard to Niro, offering a sip of whatever pungent liquid was inside. Niro had considered for a moment before declining. He wasn’t sure he was quite ready for ale yet when he had just discovered soft cheese and relatively fresh fruit. Most of the tower food was prepared off-site, or prepared in advance and stored. Niro was beginning to wonder if he’d ever had fresh fruit.

Once his stomach was tight and full, a weird feeling, but one that made him feel warm and sleepy, Niro watched.

He watched Duncan plow through more food, though…he ate with grace and manners, had Niro not been keen on watching whatever his new companion did, he may not have noticed the man was eating enough for three. He watched the few patrons cast him odd looks, saw them play cards and laugh openly.

He began to drift off. Legs aching with all the walking done today, stomach full and warm. He wondered if Anders and Lilith would forgive him missing dinner. Then realized he had definitely screwed up far beyond that, and tried to put it from his mind for now. Eventually Duncan finished his meal and stood, gesturing for the mage to walk. Eyes followed them as they walked through a back door and into a hall.

“My room is small, and there is one bed.” Duncan started, and Niro felt his stomach twist, was…no. But the man continued “While I ordered our meal I asked for a cot to be brought in as well. You’ve had a long day, and I don’t wish to needlessly discomfort you before necessary.”

Niro blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just. Oh. It was a good oh.” He found himself rushing to assure. It was good. Very good.

“That statement discomforts me, but if ever you wish to speak of it, I am your Commander. But I am also a friend to my Wardens.”

Niro smiled, little, but genuine.

Duncan smiled too “Oh?”

Niro nodded “Oh.” Satisfied with having a joke with someone other than his friends, Niro stepped through the door the man opened and blinked again to adjust his eyes, hand twitching to call his wisp and see. Then hastily putting his hand back before he could use spontaneous magic outside the Circle.

“What were you going to cast?”

“Nothing.”

“Provided you weren’t going to attack me, it’s fine. You must be comfortable with your magic to be a Warden.” Duncan sounded warm, mirthful.

“Okay.” Niro still hesitated, he bit his lip, and reached into the dead air of the room hand closing around life, then summoned the eerie green glow of the playful spirit.

“And what is this?” Duncan laughed, stepping in and closing the door, casting them both solely in the green of the faintly glowing wisp.

“You can try to touch it.” Niro offered, staring interested at the other mans enraptured expression. “It’s a wisp, practically, it makes my spells stronger. Otherwise, it glows.” he reached up to poke the orb and the spirit danced away, spinning corkscrews around his hand. The space his finger had gone through unchanged, but feeling…sparky. Like Niro had passed his hand through energy.

“I’m fine. But you should get some rest. We set off in the morn.”

Niro took the cot. It was lower to the ground, and seemed firm. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but the thick blankets were better than anything he’d had in the Circle, and he found himself wrapping himself into them and burrowing until he could barely feel the cot. A huff of fond laughter indicated he hadn’t been stealthy about his cocoon. Despite the long day, and the stress, and the sadness Niro beat back with a failing hand, he slept better than he probably ever had. He didn’t dream, and when he woke, while sore, he felt rested and curious. Ready for the day. 

Duncan wasn’t there when he woke. And it said something about the sorry state he was in despite being well rested that it only elicited a numb “huh.” as if the vanishing of his new Commander was as simple as misplacing a paintbrush.

He didn’t have to worry though, it seemed as soon as he’d redressed and finger combed his hair the man was back in the room. He looked startled for a moment. “Forgive me, I should have knocked.”

“Why?”

They just stared at each other for a moment. Feeling the difference in manners. Duncan knocked when he entered rooms with people in them. Niro was unused to people in charge of him knocking if they knew he was in a room.

Visibly deciding not to deal with it quite yet, Duncan gestured back through the door. “Breakfast, and then we will be on our way. I’d say to have all your things together, but.”

But he didn’t have any things. A few enchanted rings, and an amulet.

“Understood.”

As Niro sat down with Duncan, the same table as last night, he saw a cart outside.

“What’s happening there?” Duncan muttered to himself, leaning in and looking out the window.

Niro felt his stomach go cold, he pushed some of his breakfast around in his bowl. Duncan had obliterated three already and Niro was trying not to wonder where it even went. “That’ll be Ka-Thekla’s escort to the Gallows.”

Duncan frowned. “A transfer so late in the year?”

Niro didn’t reply, putting his spoon back in his mouth as if he was hungry for the little bit of porridge he had actually managed on the utensil.

A boat came, with several figures. Karl he recognized immediately even at a distance. A Templar, Ser Carroll? And…Anders.

His heart clenched. He had failed both of them so badly, and now he sat in a tavern, eating as they said their forcibly platonic goodbyes.

Niro alternated between watching and not looking at all. This was probably the last time he would ever see Karl. And yet, did he deserve to look at him after he’d broken his promise so quickly?

He heard the Templars talking, a few ‘hurry ups’ one or two bits of general chatter. Then the Transport was leaving, and he heard Carroll (Yes, definitely him) yell.

Which was all the warning he got before a startled Anders bolted by the window, making brief and shocked eye contact with Niro, and then pelting around the building, making for the trees.

A riot of colliding armor followed at a distance. Carroll, unlike Cullen, Niro thought of with a small smirk that seemed to confuse Duncan, couldn’t sprint in full armor.

Duncan reached over and pulled the window shut quietly. “Let’s…ignore that.”

And perhaps the journey wouldn’t be so bad.


	8. Ma Samahl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrin Mahariel finds he was hunting far closer to his companion than he thought, and prevents a few murders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've entered Mahariel's prologue!
> 
> I will not be providing translations for Elvhen titles/nicknames/endearments (like Ma Samahl) as I will introduce them later. If you can't bear the suspense, Google and the Elvhen page should have the answers you seek.

The arrow flew with the softest whistle, and landed with a dull thud.

Terrin lowered his bow and waited, the death throes of the rabbit always uncomfortable no matter how many times he hunted. He knew the arrow had struck true, and that there was no need to make any final moments more harrowing. With luck, there were none, but still, who truly knew how long you stayed awake once you were killed. 

When the grass ceased to rustle a moment later he strode forward and knelt, reaching into the tall grass and pulling the fat, limp rabbit from its depths. He’d seen it hop in and years of the hunt had helped him guess where it’s heart was. He was seldom wrong about where a heart lie. 

This region of the Hinterlands was well forested, the rabbits fat and seemingly unbothered by the numerous bears. The clan had been here a while longer than usual, Marethari deliberating on where next to move. Now that it was edging into the end of summer, they’d probably head north again, to avoid the worst of winter. They’d skirted into Orlais multiple times, edging along the vineyards, even doing trade with their sibling clans who may have received supplies from shems. 

All in all, Terrin thought, slipping a knife from its holster, that really wasn’t his place or problem to think about. He brushed a long hank of brown hair from his face and set about cleaning his kill. He idly considered what he would do upon returning to camp. His brace of rabbits now five strong, they had enough for a stew, or skewers. He was sure some of the others had been gathering, and other hunters were out. Ram was plentiful, fennec a bit gamey for his taste, druffalo, and even bear, were in no shortage, so his contribution would be satisfactory.

He thought of the newcomers, a small group of flat-ears he’d seen come in a few days past. They were interesting, and he wondered if they’d grown used to wild game over city rats. He thought of Merrill, sequestered away with Marethari, deciding where they should go and honing her magic. And he thought of Tamlen. To be fair, he usually thought of Tamlen. Tamlen was his best friend, his brother in arms, and, if Terrin wasn’t woefully mistaken, completely out of his own reach. An ill advised crush that had grown into a nearly uncomfortable one-sided relationship that Tamlen wasn’t even aware he was involved in. To be fair, Terrin was such a quiet man that without knowing what he was portraying Tamlen probably couldn’t pick it up in their silent language. And it wasn’t like Terrin was trying to hold his hand in camp. They were friends. Terrin’s feelings changed nothing, and it would be a disservice to his friend to act like they did.

He swiped the knife blade through the grass and began to clean the remnants of blood and grass off. Still, it would be fair to tell him. Perhaps that would be enough for Terrin to move on.

A bird startled from a tree as Terrin tied the cleaned rabbit to the brace with its fellows. He hadn’t heard from Tamlen in a while, he realized. He looked upwards, squinting at the sun, and guessed their hunts had separated about three hours past. He pursed his lips, that was plenty of time for his brash friend to get into trouble. 

“We didn’t mean to, Dalish! We didn’t know this forest was yours!”

Holding so still Terrin could hear his own heartbeat, he heard his friend respond, a low slow, soothing timbre, though he couldn’t make out the words. With a rueful twist to his mouth Terrin tossed the brace upwards to hang onto a branch, dead rabbits dangling in a way that discomfited him, drew his bow and set out, quietly through the trees and bushes as fast as he dared go, hoping his catch would still be there when they returned.

“There’s treasure, I swear it!”

“And why did you not look further?” A nearly amused tone lit Tamlen’s voice and Terrin had to fight the urge to groan. He hadn’t run the humans off, he was toying with them. 

“What do you think lethallin?”  
Terrin strafed from the bush he had entered, bow drawn in warning. He felt the warm breeze of summer ruffle his hair, felt the leather thong that held the owl feathers he favored swing forward to let the feathers rise and brush his jaw before settling back. “I think,” He murmured “That they should say their peace, and leave unhindered. You’re too rash.”

“And you’re not rash enough, Ma Samahl.” Tamlen drawled, blue eyes half lidded in lazy irritation, the brown lines of his vallaslin uninterrupted on tan skin until his mouth, turned almost imperceptibly down, causing the mark by his mouth to tilt slightly. His eyes left Terrin soon enough and he addressed the humans again “Very well. My friend has saved you. Tell me of this treasure.”

One of the humans, a redheaded man with a round face, nodded frantically and replied “It’s in a cave, we saw it, but it’s guarded by a monster!”

“Bah, a monster.” Tamlen sneered, voice lifting as if he planned to laugh rather than mock “Where is this cave?” And the pitch fell back to deep amusement.

The humans, unfamiliar with the forest stammered out rough directions, and scurried away, tripping and skinning their knees and hands as they went.

“Well, that was interesting.” Tamlen stated once they were out of sight. “They’ll be back to cause trouble.”

Terrin lowered his bow and raised an eyebrow “That happens when you threaten to kill people.”

Tamlen scoffed “Shems.” He corrected “And I still say you’re soft on them.”

“I’m not, you’re just looking for an anger I don’t feel.” 

They stared in a near awkward silence, crystal blue and mottled hazel locking in a silent battle of will.

“Whatever, should we find this cave? I’m curious.” Tamlen settled on, reaching up to brush light brown hair from his face, the breeze picking up again and making Terrin wish he wore his shorter like Tamlen. Or at least tied it back, as ash brown strands flipped into his eyes. As the breeze died down they were left still shaking their heads at the sudden increase of wind. 

“The Keeper will be expecting us back.” Terrin replied dutifully, “And I have a brace of rabbits hanging back a ways.”

Tamlen rolled his eyes “Yes, yes, I forget you’re the good one. I’m just saying, it’s not far, and it’ll get us back into the Keepers good graces if the treasure is Elven.”

“I still don’t know why I’m in trouble.”

“Because you didn’t think to leave me behind, drunk, when the Keeper raided the little gathering.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you drunk in the woods!” Terrin said, scandalized “Of course I didn’t leave.”

“And that’s why she thought you were a part of it.”

Terrin shook his head as if that would clear his thoughts, and said no more, simply crossed his arms.

“I guess that’s my answer?”

Silence.

“Alright, to the cave, and back before supper. Come along then, Ma Samahl.”  
Terrin looked to the sky, mouthing a soft prayer to Sylaise, knowing it would fall on deaf ears as easily as his brown vallaslin fell to her blind eyes, but took comfort anyway.


	9. Dirthara-ma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrin and Tamlen investigate the antechamber with some degree of success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, lots of spider shit in here.
> 
> If you do not like spiders, this is a spider heavy chapter.

The forest was thick, but not unbearably so. Tamlen walked first, sword drawn and shield at the ready while Terrin picked his way more delicately, longbow held ready to be drawn, but angled down and at hip height. 

“I think I’ve seen this cave.” Tamlen said after a while of travelling in silence. He hated being quiet for too long. “I thought it was a bear den.”

Terrin shook his head slowly in exasperation but didn’t comment. Which led to Tamlen holding his own conversation. 

“Anyway, I think this could be an interesting find! Like the artifacts the keepers books mention. The ones we definitely shouldn’t have been messing with.” He paused to chuckle “We tend to get into messes with some frequency, don’t we, Ma Samahl?”

Terrin didn’t need to respond, picking quietly over a fallen tree and keeping his eyes on the surrounding trees for signs of danger. His mouth tilted up into a tiny smile. This was a perfect moment. Getting into trouble (probably) looking for lost lore (hopefully). Just he and Tamlen on a small adventure once again.

“We do, and hopefully this time is different. Likely the monster the shems blathered on about is a bear, we are good at killing bears.” Tamlen declared, glancing about quickly and seeing no danger. “The cave is just ahead, Ma Samahl. Ready for our adventure?”

“I thought we were trying to placate the Keeper.” Terrin murmured as he stepped next to Tamlen, voice so soft it was lost in the falling water nearby, but Tamlen heard, he always did. 

“We can do two things at once.” Tamlen said with faux indignation “I happen to be an expert.”

Terrin scoffed and strode ahead, touching the cool stone of the cave entrance and feeling his eyebrows creep up. “This isn’t a cave.” He stated, dragging one hand up and down, fingers brushing seams in the stone “It’s a ruin.”

“Could it be a ruin in a cave? A cave ruin?”

The bowman fixed his companion with a look.

“I’m just saying, the two are not mutually exclusive. Lighten up.”

With that, Tamlen brushed by. He wasn’t aggressive, simply familiar. Terrin and Tamlen never truly learned about personal space, to Terrin’s torture and Tamlen’s ease. 

They brushed through some damp ivy just inside, and both tried to bite back the dry cough when they reached past it. The air was stagnant, despite the wall being open, even if sheltered and hidden. Despite the humans having been here recently (if they were to be believed) dust still kicked up with each soft step.

“Hey, d’you th-” Tamlen cut himself on, Terrin saw his brow crinkle in the low light. Then he started far quieter than his normal speaking voice, which had sounded so loud in the unnaturally still ruin. “Hey, d’you think this place is…strange?”

“Yes. We should leave.” Terrin’s voice, breathy in relief that his friend had noticed, was strained and quiet.

However, Tamlen fancied himself a brave man. And sometimes, his own ego got in the way of his quieter friends concerns. 

“Don’t be craven.” Tamlen scoffed, any trace of concern pushed down. “It’s probably empty, we’ll just poke around, find whatever we can, then be back by dinner.”

Terrin sighed softly and tensed his fingers on the bowstring. “Alright.”

“Left or right?”

“Should we really split up?” Terrin asked.

Tamlen shrugged “With how quiet it is, we should be able to scope this room then meet at the door over there.” Tamlen pointed down the hall. A door was visible in the distance across what seemed to be a spacious room, if they were judging the space right.

“Fine. Right.”

They crept forward again and yes, that was a large room. The stairs were crumbling and more than once both men seemingly twitched to slide a foot away from a shaky stone. Once or twice just after the foot moved the area collapsed, the broken stone tumbling down like a particularly irritating waterfall. 

At the bottom, Terrin noticed the floor seemed warped, like walking over waves. “Don’t twist your ankle.” He murmured “The floor is weird.”

“Yeah same over here. Stay in sight.”

Terrin looked around the room to take stock. “I might check a chest. But unless I fall I don’t think I can hide.”

“Rogues.” Tamlen sighed.

The other elf nodded as if Tamlen had complimented him, and stepped lightly forward. Tamlen rolling his eyes and continuing on the right. 

“Terrin.” Tamlen hissed, loud and abrasive in the room.

“Why are we whispering ineffectually?”

“Draw your bow!”

Terrin drew an arrow and watched as Tamlen gestured briskly at the center of the room.

Confused, and taking in what he could, Terrin took a knee to fire when asked. Odds are Tamlen could see something he couldn’t from the angle he was at across the room. There was an outcropping. Looking at the floor for any muted shadows in the dim room. Of course, plants and cobwebs cast odd shadows. Terrin looked up into the mess of plant and web around the damaged ceiling, light attempting to shine in. There was something there, just poking out of the side of the rock blocking his view. Something shiny, obsidian? Or…

Terrin looked at Tamlen who was slowly backtracking, sword held out of any feeble light to prevent reflection.

A low rasping hiss filled the room, a tittering squeal, and then Tamlen was sprinting, the giant spider was falling from the ceiling, and Terrin was trying to shoot the falling spider in a weak area. Panicking, he sank the arrow into a leg joint and prayed it stopped it from moving as it wanted, then drew another as Tamlen dodged away from the beast. 

Tamlen dove in, slashing at the legs and rolling out of the way of the dripping pincers. Terrin methodically fired into whatever joint he could lock on to as Tamlen drew the creatures ire. 

The spider shrieked, which was one thing that made Terrin hate the giants more than the small, quiet, non-man-eating ones. As the massive body lurched for Tamlen three of its legs locked around arrowheads and it tumbled to the side with a squall. Tamlen charged in, blade flashing in the low light, and drove the point into the spiders underbelly, the crunch of chitin echoing with the echoes of battle. The spider tittered once more, then went still, its good legs curling upwards over its corpse. 

“Well that was unexpected.” Tamlen said as they waled to the spider from opposite sides. He shoved the toe of his boot into a crevice and pushed, the spider didn’t move.

Terrin approached and tried to recover his arrows. The three in the damaged legs were splintered and useless. So he snapped off the heads and dropped them in a pocket in his pack. A few had pincushioned the spaces between segments on the back, and they weren’t damaged at all. Wasted shots. The two arrows in its face had clearly not done much other than making it harder to see. They were undamaged though, so he took them and wiped them clean. Tamlen had opened his pack and was caring for his sword anyway, so there was time. As Terrin put the useful arrows back in his quiver, five in total, three loose arrowheads, he saw the gleam on the pincers. 

“Tamlen were you bit?”

The sandy haired elf looked up from his blade. “No, I didn’t know if it was venomous.” 

“It was.”

There was silence as Tamlen finished his inspection of his sword and stood. “Need help bottling any of the venom?”

Wrist already in his bag Terrin spoke “I don’t know how much I’ll get, may need bottles.”

The spider, being dead, didn’t want to give up its venom. Terrin wrapped his hand in a thick strip of cloth and set about scraping what he could into the glass bottle. When it ran dry he pressed a small knife to the fangs under the small pincers. Also, what creature had pincers and fangs? Terrin hated this cave. Tamlen came over with his hands wrapped to pry the ungodly creatures mouth area open as Terrin eked out what he could. Three small bottles was a good haul. The two elves unwrapped their hands and stored the cloth, the bottles were stowed, and after a cursory look over of the spider nest turning up a few trinkets and coins that Tamlen passed off to Terrin, they stood.

“Alright, so what else do you think is inside?”

Terrin sighed and followed Tamlen when he walked to the door.


	10. Felassan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrin and Tamlen encounter walking corpses for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed like, all the origins are so much less involved than the Magi origin? I am struggling to make this 5 or 6 chapters, kinda fearing City Elf Fen Tabris who is next in the lineup.
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for any and all comments I've gotten! They mean a lot to me!

The arched entryway led to a branching hallway, left, and right.

Terrin sucked his lips in in a universal sign for “Oh. Oh shit.” and looked to Tamlen out the corner of his eye.

“How many arrows do you have, Ma Samahl?” Tamlen said, a hint of wariness reentering his tone.

“Ten, before I need to switch to daggers.”

The two elves stood in silence for a moment, shifting from foot to foot. Terrin held back a wince as the damp, slimy stone pulled at the soles of his feet. “Where?”

“Look I know you’ve got the whole…handsome, strong, silent thing going on, but stopping complete sentences right now isn’t helping.”

Terrin turned his head sharply to hide any flush on his face, hair and feathers brushing his neck as he cleared his throat. “Very complimentary, try right.”

“See nobody will believe that you’re just a little vain.” Tamlen teased “But I know you, a little compliment and you open right up.”

As they padded right, Terrin felt himself die inside. What his cocky friend had failed to notice is that he was the only person who said things like this to him. Fine, whatever, he’d just keep this a secret forever, and then one day, he’d die. “No need to lie to make me talk.” He humored, rolling his eyes.

Tamlen pressed the door open, slowly, and carefully. “Not lying, don’t know how you’re not bonded yet, apart from the fact that y’know, _you only talk to me._”

“I’m picky.” And In love with you. Like an idiot.

“You have good taste, but someday, you’re going to meet some pretty hunter, or Keeper and they’re going to keep you- fenedhis! Spider!” Tamlen bolted out and slashed at the creature. “Cover fire, Ma Samahl!”

Terrin slid behind a pillar and started firing. A low rattle making him hesitate momentarily before he took another shot.

Then the rattle again.

A dull clang as Tamlen slammed his sword into the spiders pincer and it reacted like a sword, Tamlen staggering back a few steps, arm likely tingling from the elbow down.

_Rattle rattle._

Giving up just for a moment Terrin chanced a glance to the side, and managed to throw himself into a painful roll to avoid the corpse with a blade.

“Terrin what are you- Oh Creators!”

The brown haired elf rolled to his feet between Tamlen and the spider, and the walking corpse. Both enemies seemed interested in the new arrival, allowing a crack, and a slick noise as Tamlen used the spiders distraction to shove his sword into its face.

The corpse took Terrins arrows like a champ, as he danced backwards, firing whenever he had a moment. The corpse, dumb and clumsy, and hissing like a weird cat, followed him, slashing its blade incessantly. Terrin caught a foot in some rubble and fell backwards. Tamlen’s wordless cry filling his ears as he breathlessly nocked another arrow, firing at close range when the corpse crawled over the small ledge he’d fallen from. Its leathery carcass sliding down on him.

Terrin pushed the corpse off and took a deep, loud breath. Tamlens wide, startled eyes appearing a moment later to frantically flutter hands over him, ending at the ankle that had caught.

“I was worried when I saw you fall.” He admitted. “You fight from a distance.”

Sitting and pulling his leg to him to investigate the ankle, Terrin saw some bruising already forming, a nasty cut above the bone, but nothing too horrible. He smiled to show Tamlen he was alright.

“Can you put weight on it?” The sandy haired elf asked, carefully pulling back to pull arrows from the carcass. “What is this thing?”

“A walking corpse?” Terrin rasped “I wonder how old it is.” He stood and hesitantly placed weight on his injured ankle, feeling only a slight twinge. “I can walk.”

Tamlen had produced a knife to cut and was trying to cut arrows out of the creatures leathery carcass, fingers pinching strips of flesh, features contorted in disgust. “Clean and wrap it at least.” Another cut released a puff of dust. Tamlen coughed, then retched. “This is disgusting.”

Terrin pulled a waterskin and a roll of bandages, some herbal paste, and dressed his own ankle as he stood, resting his foot on a broken pillar. When he was done he tossed the waterskin to Tamlen. “Wash up, corpsehands.”

“Never call me that again.”

“No promises.”

After the arrows were pulled from the creatures body, and Tamlens hands were washed, though he still looked disgruntled, Terrin walked in a few tight circles. He pivoted on his ankle, jogged forwards and backwards a few times, getting used to the range of comfortable motion, ensuring the ankle wouldn’t give out.

“You’re well enough to continue, Ma Samahl?”

“Yes, Ma Renan.”

Tamlen stood. “Keep your bow at the ready, the left room may be better or worse.”

Terrin nodded. Determination in the set of his jaw. There was no way Tamlen would leave now. Not even if Terrin walked out, his more adventurous friend would continue inside. Better to continue on with him, provide backup. Besides, he had a great idea for trying to pin creatures with his arrows instead of just doing damage. Perhaps he could buy them both time to combat other enemies in crowded encounters. He didn’t really like that he was considering doing this more. But it did send a little trill of excitement though him anyway.

They made their way down the hallway again, Tamlen again crouched down to try and open the door quietly, but a low rattling hiss kicked up immediately. Two arrows thudding into the door, about chest height were they standing.

“Well, looks like we’re getting this out of the way!” Tamlen shouted as he stood and charged in, slamming his wooden shield into the face of a corpse swordsman. Terrin held his draw, then fired at an incoming swordsman. The arrow pierced its atrophied leg and pinned it to the floor. The mindless creature even looked a little confused, tugging at its leg and groaning. Tamlen dispatched his opponent and rushed an archer, as Terrin stood straight and took aim himself.

The archers were…squishier, than the swordsmen. And when they were done, one low rattle reminded them of the swordsman corpse still pinned to the ground.

“Must have been one heavy draw, Ma Samahl.” Tamlen said, a low whistle following. He lifted his sword, “Let’s put this sad creature to rest.”

Terrin watched unblinking as the creature was cut down. Then he pulled his arrow from the floor, jimmying the point with a dagger.

“Wow it’s really in there.” Tamlen said “Less leathery here, I have your other arrows. D’you think this means these were dead less time? Or preserved differently?”

The arrowhead came out with a clink. Terrin winced and inspected the head, a small chip off one side. Not the best, but it would still fire. He traced his fingers over the arrow shaft, not…ideal. He stood and hesitantly kept hold of the arrow as Tamlen slid the other arrows in his quiver.

“Are you listening to me at all? And what’s wrong with that one?”

“Chipped point. Damaged shaft.”

“And were you listening?”

Terrin smiled and shrugged.

“Oh, I see how it is. Come on then, there’s a door.”


	11. Mi’nas’sal’inan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrin experiences happiness, pride, anger, forgiveness, fear, fondness, confusion and agony in quick succession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually isn't the end of Terrin's prologue arc, it's just...mixed with another one, so we will be back to what happens next after a few chapters of segue! 
> 
> Thanks, my 10 dear readers, you mean the world to me.
> 
> Also, check out Project Elvhen! I'm heavily cribbing for elvish as uh, canon hasn't given me much. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883?view_adult=true&view_full_work=true

Terrin and Tamlen picked their way through the door, corpses strewn about the hall.

They stopped every few steps, nudging the corpses with cold bare toes, cringing at the leathery damp feel. Looking hesitant, Terrin drew a dagger for use, for the first time this adventure. Longer and stronger than his tools, he couldn’t exactly use this one to scrape venom. Its point had been great for wedging out the arrowhead in the last room though. The battered arrow still held between his fingers, Terrin unwilling to put it back with the good ones, lest he draw it by mistake in battle. If he was going to use it, he’d know which it was.

“What are you doing?”

Terrin knelt and brought the dagger down, hard, into the corpses head.

“Oh, we’re desecrating corpses now, this is why we aren’t usually invited to gatherings with the other hunters.” Tamlen sighed, drawing his knife and kneeling. He had to put a bit more pressure behind his strikes, but he joined in anyway. “So, will this…stop them getting up, or are we just, stabbing them.”

“I dunno.”

“What! You don’t even have an idea?”

“No.”

Tamlen groaned lightly. “The things I do following your lead, Ma Samahl.”

They continued on for a few moments, severing tendons, poking fatal holes and generally making life for a walking corpse difficult.

“Can we stop? I’m…Gross. I’m so gross Ma Samahl.”

“Don’t like the ‘old corpse’ texture?” Terrin murmured lightly.

“No, I don’t nobody does, it’s awful.” Tamlen said, disgusted, wandering over to a small pool of river water from the waterfall that seemed to have dribbled down the wall. “I’m fouling this water with my hands. I don’t care.”

As the lighter haired elf scrubbed at his hands in the water, Terrin looked around the hall. “What’s that?”

Tamlen stood, shaking his hands, he took a delicate sniff, and his nose wrinkled. “Is it soap? If it doesn’t remove the corpse smell, I want nothing to do with-oh. Oh hey this is a statue.”

Snorting delicately, Terrin stood and wandered over to wash his hands as Tamlen investigated the statue.

“It looks like one of the images in the Keepers books-”

“The ones we-”

“Yes yes, the ones we weren’t supposed to be looking at.”

Terrin nodded and went back to splashing, he grabbed a soggy bit of lichen from the wall and crushed it.

“I can see you actively trying to smell like moldy plant rather than a corpse.”

The brown haired elf felt a smile pulling at his lips, so wide it made his cheeks hurt as he tried not to laugh. In a moment he felt Tamlens knee brush his as the other elf crouched down and ran his hand over Terrin’s, stealing some lichen.

“Save me some.”

Terrin felt heat flush his cheeks as they scrubbed.

“So, anyway, that statue! It looks like it’s of shemlen make. Do you think ancient elves lived here? With shems? Could these ruins be…connected to Arlathan?”

“We’re nowhere near Arlathan.” Terrin said, scraping the lichen off his hands in the water/

“Ancient elves were everywhere, though.” Tamlen added, also rinsing his hands. “I wonder what this place was.”

Rolling his shoulders and shaking his hands, Terrin stood. “It’s interesting.”

“Yeah yeah, too cool to be excited about our history. You sure you aren’t a flat ear?”

Fixing Tamlen with a glare, Terrin crossed his arms and set his jaw. “I’m Dalish.”

Tamlen frowned. “I know. I forget what a proud thing you are. Soft on shems, not excited about ancient history, but when it gets down to it, you’re pretty Elvhen, aren’t you?”

Nodding sharply Terrin turned to the open hall and started walking.

“Ma Samahl?” Tamlen called “Ma Samahl! C’mon, don’t be angry. I’m sorry.”

Unable to stay irritated at the thoughtless joke, Terrin sighed. “Stop questioning my devotion to the Dalish.”

“Of course, I’m sorry.” Then, oddly tentative, “Friends?”

Groaning quietly, Terrin cut him a look. “Always.”

The easy atmosphere was a little ruined. And Terrin regretted it. He liked when Tamlen was more serious, less brash, he just wished the tenderness wasn’t after Terrin’s temper snapped. All the same, the ruin smelled of stagnant water and rot. “Another door.” He offered after a bit.

“Shall we continue on?”

Fixing Tamlen with an exasperated and fond look, Terrin rolled his eyes. “For you.”

“Ah, I am a lucky man.” Tamlen said as he breezed by, still a little giddy from the rush of battle. And Terrin was still a little too lovestruck to deny him anything, heart beating slow and sweet after a moment, letting the spat wash away. Terrin went back to looking around and his eyes lit on the floor.

“Wait, trap.”

Tamlen stepped back and let Terrin kneel and begin disarming the massive circle trap on the floor, setting his bow to the side, just in time for the low rattling groan of corpses rising. “You do that, I’ll handle these!”

Terrin moved his fingers as fast as he could, carefully dismantling the trap. The backdrop of battle was distracting, but nothing reached Terrin before he heard the heavy _ka-chunk _of the trap dying. He stood and grabbed his bow.

Their earlier efforts were successful though. No corpses stood from the side of the hall they’d approached from. Terrin hastily nocked an arrow, the bad one, and fired. As expected it went a bit wonky, but did punch through the undead archers head, dropping it where it stood as Tamlen finished up with another swordsman.

“Good shot! Was that the bad one?” Tamlen laughed, energized from battle as he had been since they entered.

“Yes. Grab the quiver.”

Tamlen scurried over a pile of debris to steal the undead archers quiver, jogging back and handing it over while Terrin picked through it and took the arrows he wanted and discarding the quiver.

“What do you think is inside?” Tamlen asked, looking at the last door.

“Trouble.” Terrin grunted, nocking an arrow. “You can open it.”

Looking nervous but excited, Tamlen kept his sword out, and tugged on the door. It was heavy, and it grated on the ground, but it opened without much fuss.

Almost immediately a massive bear, seemingly without skin, and with protruding bone spines burst through. Tamlen yelped and lashed out dragging his sword over the Bearskarns side. It ignored the slash and rushed forward. Terrin dropped his bow and grabbed his daggers in time to be bowled over by the creature.

It roared, rancid breath saturating Terrin’s hair as he tried to dig the points of his blades into any part of the creature that would keep its teeth away.

“Terrin! Terrin!” He could hear Tamlen shouting, could hear the Bearskarn grunting, feel it backing off its assault on the trapped elf in favor of the one slashing at it. Eventually, the creature stood to bellow and Terrin rocked up to his feet, blades first, and stabbed the beast before bolting backwards. Now unpinned, Terrin was free to sprint about, helping Tamlen’s sweeping blows with frantic stabs.

The beast fell soon enough. And both elves were left standing, soaked in blood. Both of them bruised from the massive beasts flailing. Terrin reached down to brush his hand over a cut on his thigh. “Ouch.”

Tamlen chuckled, half out of his head, and sniffed his arm. “Smells better than corpse.”

Terrin jerked his chin up, gesturing at the room. “Let’s look.”

Off like a shot, Tamlen entered, Terrin walked after, a light limp holding him back.

It might have been a large room. But it was all taken up by a dais and a massive mirror. Tamlen, predictably, walked up the stairs to look at it as Terrin looted the room, tucking anything he found into his pack.

“It doesn’t reflect.” Tamlen said, curiosity alive in his tone.

“Hmm?” Terrin responded, tugging at the fingers of a pair of gloves. They were nice, actually.

“Wait, I think I see something. A…a city? Underground?”

Terrin smiled and walked back to the Bearskarns corpse, being sure to spare a fond glance at Tamlen as he passed. “As you say.” He teased. He knelt down to move the coat around, looking to see if anything had stuck to the creature, and noticed a faint glimmer, he reached for itm head sinking out of view of the mirror.

“Something is…moving, what…It saw me!”

Terrin’s fingers slipped on the gem then got it in his grasp. “Hey, I found-”

“Help! I can’t look away!” Tamlen screamed in a raw tone that had Terrin on his feet in a moment, pivoting to dash back inside, only to see.

Nothing.

“Tamlen?” Terrin called, heart hammering. “Tamlen this isn’t funny, you screamed, anything could have came.”

He walked into the room, taking a quick turn around it, surprised Tamlen wasn’t there. “Tamlen? Ma Renan?” He looked in divots in the wall, he searched cracks, he walked up to the mirror and touched its hard surface. His breath came quicker, his eyes grew moist. And his searching grew frantic. The mirror was just glass in a setting, it showed nothing, not even a reflection.

“Tamlen?” He cried, confused and concerned looking around from his now central point. Tamlen couldn’t have sneaked by him. He was somewhere in the room. And yet, he wasn’t.

Terrin walked out into the hall, turned, and walked backwards until his back hit the wall, and sank to the floor, eyes fixed just beyond the open door as he pulled his knees close and gripped his hair with one hand while the other rested on the floor, holding him up. His breath came too fast, and it felt like he wasn’t breathing. His heart hurt.

“I…I don’t understand.”


	12. Wolf Pup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen Tabris is awakened on the day that will change her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many elves.
> 
> Fen is a shy baby, please love her.

If Fen hadn’t been mostly awake from the moment the door opened, her cousins voice would have done it.

“Come on cousin, wake up!”

“No.” She grumbled, wrenching her threadbare blanket over her head and shuffling. She moved her bent arm over her head to smooth her hair in case her cousin decided to fight for the blanket. She was not going to be hauled up by her hair again. That was awful.

“Fen.” Shianni scolded, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket, much kinder than usual in her blanket removal strategy.

Fen reached up, curling her fingers between Shianni’s to hold the blanket down. “No.”

But Shianni had always been stronger. She wrenched the blanket back, leaving Fen curled up in her nightshirt, hands desperately trying to blot out the sun from her window.

“Get up, you know what today is, right?”

Taking a slow breath, Fen sat upright. “It better be something better than get drunk before noon day.” Fen glowered. “My head hurts, Shianni.”

Shianni reached out to cup her face, running her thumb over Fen’s cheek. “You, do look a little gray.” She said, eying her little cousin critically. “But your groom, Nelaros, he’s here early!”

The smaller elf batted Shianni’s hand away “No, nonono, he can’t be here! Shinni, I’m hungover, I’m gray faced, my hair is a mess-”

“All things we can fix-”

“What if I say something stupid? What if he says something and I just, I just groan at him?”

“Cousin, you’re panicking-”

“What if I look like this!” Fen shrieked, grabbing fistfuls of hopelessly tangled red hair.

Gentle hands batted her hands away. “Aww, you’re so nervous!” Shianni giggled “Fen, I brought stuff to fix you up, you can do this.”

“You’ll do my hair?”

“I’ll do your hair.”

“So I won’t look like a mangy rat?”

“You have never looked like a mangy rat.” Shianni soothed “Just a precious little doll.”

Fen pouted. “I’m not a doll.”

A finger tapped her on her nose. “Oh hush, I remember you, big green eyes full of tears, hiding behind my skirts, and you’re only three years younger.” She giggled again “My shy little cousin.”

“Argh, fine. Fine! I just.” Fen looked at the floor, feet dangling above it. “I don’t want to get married. And I don’t want to let father down, and I just. I’m worried, what if I’m not a good wife?”

“Fen…”

“I know it’s stupid, to be worrying about if I’ll be good at something I don’t want to do.”

Shianni walked closer and sat on the bed. “Fen, you’re as fiery as your hair. I know you took Aunt Adaia’s teachings to heart. And, I think, if this guy isn’t exactly what you want, you’ll find a way to get him in line.”

“Shianni I can barely talk to strangers.”

“And you’re not alone, cousin! You’re staying here. Soris and I, and your father, and everyone else, we’re all here for you.”

“Fine.” Fen muttered. “Make me pretty?”

“Oh don’t sound so hopeful, it’s not hard.”

Fen stripped out of her night shirt, shivering in her smalls. And Shianni gently combed her hair out, dark red against porcelain skin, reaching her mid back. Fen sighed and relished in the familiar feel of her cousin doing her hair.

“Hmm, you could do with a trim. Some of the ends are split.” Shianni murmured, putting a hand on Fen’s shoulder when she twitched in panic. “It’s not bad, or noticeable.” Shianni assured, resuming combing. “In the next few months you might need a trim though, is all I meant. Your hair is very shiny.” After a few more brush strokes, Shianni tugged a ribbon from her wrist and tied Fen’s hair back. ‘I’ll do it before the wedding.” She whispered conspiratorially. “No need to have it up all day.”

“I’ll…get dressed then!” Fen said, standing and walking to her trunk, pulling out s shirt and some breeches. “I’ll go say hello, and then…and then tonight, you’ll do my makeup, and my hair, and I’ll get. Um. M..marr…married.”

“Well don’t strain yourself.” Shianni said “Go say hello, I’ll get things ready here, and find my dress.”

Backing out of her room as Shinni set out tools for later, (a few small jars, a nice dress, a small bag of ribbons she’d brought with, a tiny jewelry box.) Fen almost backed in with her father. “Ah! Baba, I didn’t see you there.”

“Of course not, my girl, you were too busy skulking away backwards.”

Burying her hands in the lock of hair over her shoulder, Fen bit her lip. “Sorry, baba, I-”

Strong hands landed on her narrow shoulders. “It’s okay Fen. My sweet girl. Today is the last day I get to call you that.”

“No! I’ll still be here, and I’m still your daughter. Even if I get married. Well, when. But. You won’t lose me.”

“As much a spitfire as your mother was.” Cyrion said, fond, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Fen, my girl, I know you have martial training, but please-”

“I won’t carry moms dagger. I promise I won’t make us seem like troublemakers. I need to take care of you!”

Cyrion sighed “Just for a little while. Valendrian and I worked hard to scrape together a dowry for you, and to find a suitable match. I’m sure Nelaros will be good to you, and understanding when you reveal you can pick any lock in Denerim.”

Fen blushed, looking at the floor. Her father tipped her chin up, still smiling softly. “You’ve always been such a shy, slip of a thing. But put a mission in your head or a dagger in your hands and you’re the spitting image of your mother.”

“I’ll make you proud! Promise!” Fen said, lips pressed together in determination.

“You do. Everyday. Now, go say hello to everyone. Soris said he’d be waiting for you to do the rounds. Let everyone see you this morning before you dazzle them in your wedding gown.”

Flipping her hair back over her shoulder, Fen nodded and approached the door. Then she took a deep breath, and stepped outside into the street, lips still tilted upwards. Today was going to be just fine.


End file.
